


ARTEMIS

by galaxystiel



Series: ARTEMIS [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Amputation, Animal Death, Biological Weapons, Cliffhangers, Conspiracy, Croats (Supernatural), Cults, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Hate Sex, Historically-Accurate Incest, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Murder, Religion, Science, Science Fiction, Secret Organizations, Sigma Force AU, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Temporary Character Death, Terminal Illnesses, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2019-11-05 12:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 169,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17919203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxystiel/pseuds/galaxystiel
Summary: It was the twenty-first century, and every department had their own covert operatives to accomplish their various needs. ARTEMIS was exactly that for DARPA, the research and developmental side of the Department of Defense. The team was made up of ex-Special Forces soldiers who had unparalleled intelligence, to also specialise in various relevant areas of science.Essentially, a team of killer scientists.Dr. and Commander Dean Winchester had been selected especially for this mission.





	1. Halo

**Author's Note:**

> ARTEMIS is a Destiel AU of my favourite series of novels, with many vast changes to make it my own work, and not just a regurgitation of the talented original author.
> 
> For this reason, ARTEMIS is intended to be a long series of fiction, with multiple cases being encountered by the team. The tags for each case will differ, so please make sure you check the updated tags for each case before you continue on.
> 
> With regards to date stamps: this story is told chronologically. Conflicting dates are merely indicative of time zones.

   

 

 

**APRIL 23 RD, 04:13 AM  
PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS**

Dean Winchester entered the facility quietly, shivering roughly. His black bodysuit was warm, but the sun wasn’t due to rise for another thirty-two minutes and the night was still cold. His motorcycle was left on the other side of the woods, somewhere it wouldn’t be discovered. He was a little wary about his only escape route being so far away, but he didn’t want to spook his contact. A little show of faith on his part.

The edge of Pine Bluff Arsenal was directly ahead, a huge facility spread across a vast expanse, surrounded by woods and a lake. While Dean was glad the rendezvous was set on one of the quieter sides of the compound, he would have preferred somewhere a little more discreet. Picking a site where the U.S. Army held a stockpile of their chemical weapons was enough to put Dean on edge - the cache was supposed to have been destroyed, but the fact that he was heading to a section of the facility that wasn’t on any of the blueprints he’d seen? That didn’t bode well.

Attached to his hip was a crude ID badge that would fool any electronic lock but wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny from human eyes. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. A quick exchange, in and out, and more of the human T-lymphotropic virus would be taken off the market. The damage it caused was catastrophic. At least four hundred thousand people infected with leukaemia.

Dean shifted his weight, heaving the light bag over his shoulder. Two hundred thousand dollars didn’t weigh much when it came in hundred-dollar bills. The pressure of the sale was the heaviest burden. It had taken a lot of promises to get Dean’s skittish contact to agree to this meeting, brokering contacts in Russia and Syria. If the slightest thing went wrong, the contact would flee.

He glanced down at his watch and pressed the button to light up the display. It was a recent prototype, originally Russian but heavily improved by DARPA. It could stand up to a nuclear explosion. The rest of his bodysuit would too, to a certain extent, including the Kevlar helmet he still wore from the ride in, a microphone concealed at the visor for a direct link back to ARTEMIS. Dean exhaled as he took in the time. 4:23 AM. Time to move.

“McQueen to Bunker, I’m at the facility. Proceeding on foot.”

“ _Roger, McQueen. We have visual_.”

Dean rolled his eyes behind the visor and resisted the urge to flip the bird at the skies, unsure where he would even be aiming. He hated being watched while he worked. Quite often he had to cross a line, and Charlie would take it out of his ass when he got back for not following orders. Like it was his fault things always went to shit and he needed to improvise. At least he got the job done.

Making sure the coast was clear, he moved cautiously towards the restricted area of the facility. It was surrounded by a twenty-foot barbed wire fence and moving patrols, but Dean wasn’t concerned. He threw his jacket over the top and scaled the fence, using the speed of his climb as momentum to flip himself over the barbed wires. Protected by his jacket, he landed on the other side safely, knees braced shoulder-width apart and one hand pressed to the floor. A practiced example of a perfect three-point landing. He pulled his jacket free and disappeared into the shadows before the guards even completed half of their circuit. Piece of cake.

Dean moved over to the first building, pressing his back to the concrete and peering around the corner to make sure the coast was clear. It was. As predicted, the patrol kept outside the fence. There should be little resistance now he was inside. Keeping to the shadows, Dean reached his destination quickly. Laboratory 12-A. He had no idea why there were unrecorded clandestine labs at a facility that was supposed to house chemical weaponry, not make them. Maybe to experiment on the best way to store such weapons? That seemed unlikely.

He reached for his DARPA-forged electronic ID card, swiping the lock and sighing with relief as the light turned to green. Before entering, he checked his sheath for his serrated dagger, which was his only means of protection. Nothing but the glass-reinforced nylon composite would have gotten past the initial security gate.

Opening the door, he stepped inside cautiously. The building was empty, as anticipated, and Dean relaxed somewhat. The metal stairwell in the corner of the room showed him his means to explore, so he took it, gingerly climbing. He checked the hallway on each floor as he climbed, looking for any sign of movement. Nothing. When he made it to the third floor he stepped through the hall, heading for room ten. Something wasn’t right about this building. It didn’t look like it had sat unused for a few decades; it looked pristine. Maybe the President’s new administration had reopened the site.

To satisfy his own curiosity, Dean clicked on his flashlight and peered into one of the rooms. There was nothing of notable interest - computer servers, for the most part. Dean relaxed. This was just a disused tech lab. Nothing secret here.

A light flickered briefly from inside the room at the end of the hall. Dim. Another flashlight, maybe. It flickered again, then once more, then stopped. A signal. For him?

He stepped closer, hugging the wall to the side of the door as he waited, listening. When he heard nothing, he reached out with his foot and pushed the door open a crack, listening again, before squeezing inside. It was dark, and he couldn’t see much, but he could just about make out some yellow lines on the floor, surrounding a section of the room in the shape of a square. For what purpose, Dean had no idea. Similar to the server room he’d passed, this room seemed to be where everything obsolete was stored until it became needed. If it ever did.

“Over here,” a gravelly voice greeted him.

Dean stilled. There was a hint of a long-unused accent there. Passable for American, except Dean was on hyper-alert. Russian? He wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t like surprises.

He followed the voice through a maze of stacked chairs and filing cabinets, until he reached a table. A figure sat at one end, and then a chair was shoved towards Dean.

“Sit.”

Dean wasn’t sure who he’d expected his contact to be. A janitor with too much access. A scientist with a vendetta. He didn’t know who this guy was, but he was neither of the two options.

A flashlight flicked on, and Dean startled, but he quickly adjusted to the brightness. As a gesture of faith, he took the offered seat and placed the bag with the money on the table, eventually looking over at his contact.

He was tanned, with a shock of messy dark hair. Black? No, dark brown. Blue eyes, bright blue. Dean had never seen that shade before. The guy wore a fitted turtleneck bodysuit, not unlike the one Dean wore, hugging a lithe but by no means skinny frame. Emblazoned across the chest, barely noticeable unless you happened to be paying close attention, was a logo. It looked like an asymmetric Star of David within a circle, where the top and bottom triangles were much wider than the others. Dean didn’t recognise it.

A glint of silver hung above it. A necklace. The chain was thin but sturdy, and the silver pendant that hung just level with the man’s collarbone was a hollow, twisted disc shape, not unlike a halo. The blue eyes were fixed on him, but Dean found himself more preoccupied with Halo’s hands. The hands that were currently holding a 9mm Heckler and Koch that was pointed directly at him.

The sight of the gun made his blood run cold, but it was the next phrase that truly set in the fear.

“Good evening, Commander Winchester.”

How could this guy know his name?

If he knew that…

Dean moved, but just a split second too late.

The gun fired at point-blank range. His body armour took the brunt of the impact, but Dean was still shoved backwards, flipping off the chair and sprawling on the floor. He bit back a cry of pain, knowing that a rib was definitely broken, and feeling the blood pulse in his ears.

The man stepped around the table almost casually, gun still pointing as a deterrent. “I’m going to assume you’re transmitting all of this back to Washington, to ARTEMIS. Possibly even directly to Charlie Bradbury herself. Forgive me, I’m going to borrow a little airtime.”

“Bite me,” Dean groaned, spitting blood onto the floor, wrinkling his nose as it caught the bottom of his visor. He must have bitten his lip.

The man leaned in, speaking clearly. “The Men of Letters will decimate the entirety of Pine Bluff Arsenal within twenty minutes. Consider it revenge for ARTEMIS interfering with our operations. Unfortunately, I owe your director Charlie Bradbury a little something more. This is payback for my sister in the field, Rowena. I’m sure your director remembers her.”

Dean looked up as the gun turned to point directly at his visor. It was a blood-chilling sight, but Dean didn’t shy away from it.

His jaw clenched and he stared up into the eyes of the man that would end his life, as he pulled the trigger.

 

**04:42 AM  
WASHINGTON D.C.**

The audio feed went dead. Chaos ensued.

Charlie clenched her fist, taking a deep breath as she tried to keep herself calm. If she held herself well, others would follow. Even so, she wanted nothing more than to tear out her earpiece and just scream continuously.

“Back-up?”

“Twenty minutes out,” Kevin’s voice was thick with repressed emotion, but Charlie understood his position and turned to the other man in the room.

“Can you get the audio back?”

The technician shook his head. “Not from this end. If they exit the building, we can still get visual from the satellite.” He gestured to the monitors.

Charlie barely gave them a glance. From the way this was being handled, with the usual sheer precision of the Men of Letters, there was no time to wait for Dean and the other agent to leave the building. Without backup, there was no guarantee Dean would be leaving the building at all, except maybe in a body bag.

She took a deep breath. “Oh God. Alert Pine Bluff security.”

Kevin’s head snapped up. “Director?”

Charlie understood his concerns. ARTEMIS was a top-secret division of DARPA. People only discovered its existence on a need-to-know basis. There would be no chance of acknowledging Dean as an asset once security was alerted. Mistakes were not to be tolerated and Dean would be disavowed. Given the facility he’d broken into, he’d spend a very long time in jail. Then Sam would resign, and she’d lose two agents instead of one.

But if Dean died, Sam would leave anyway.

Charlie steeled herself. “I won’t let him die. Make the call.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kevin reached for the phone. He was shorter than Charlie, and younger. He was Asian-American, with big brown eyes and a wiry frame. When he’d been hired in a command position with no field experience, Charlie had dismissed his capabilities, assuming he just had friends in high places. Now, she knew better than to underestimate him. Kevin was an unparalleled strategist and had skills with languages that she could never dream of. As her second-in-command, her trust in him was implicit, and he had never let her down.

Almost in direct contrast of Kevin, Charlie was tall, pale and slender, with newly cropped red hair. Her experience had been mostly technical too, but she’d been pushed into field work and had loved every minute of it. Still, she had a lot to prove. To create a top-secret team and put a woman in charge was practically unheard of, and Charlie would be damned if it failed. She knew that any failures would reflect poorly on her as a woman, and she refused to let that happen.

She glanced over at the monitor showing the satellite’s view and looked over at the storage building, still and silent.

How could they have known? It had been a long time since there’d been word of any ARTEMIS agents in the field. After she’d witnessed the death of her own partner, Rowena - a Men of Letters spy who had infiltrated the ranks of ARTEMIS - everything had gone to shit. ARTEMIS had barely survived. They’d had to change everything, rebuilding their systems from scratch with no outside interference. They’d even changed the location of their headquarters, moving out of a beautiful set of offices in central Washington D.C. to a dank, subterranean bunker on the outskirts that never saw the light of day.

She knew this was personal. That the Men of Letters were seeking revenge for Rowena, as well as to discredit ARTEMIS entirely. They were the only team that stood between the Men of Letters and the ability to operate with impunity. The loss of an agent would be enough to force ARTEMIS to disband, once it reached the higher-ups. Charlie couldn’t let that happen.

“I can’t get through. It’s not even a technical issue I can try and fix from here, there’s no dial tone. I think the Men of Letters have physically cut the lines.” Kevin spoke up from his computer.

In frustration, Charlie settled herself down at her desk and scowled at the mission dossier sitting next to her bobblehead Hermione doll. Embossed on the manila file was a single word, written all in capitals.

_ARTEMIS._

It was the twenty-first century, and every department had their own covert operatives to accomplish their various needs. ARTEMIS was exactly that for DARPA, the research and developmental branch of the Department of Defense. Nobody knew what ARTEMIS as an acronym stood for, but Charlie had privately come up with her own theory. Arcane Research Team Equipped for Missions Involving Science. The team was made up of ex-Special Forces soldiers who had unparalleled intelligence, to also specialise in various relevant areas of science.

Essentially, a team of killer scientists.

Dr. and Commander Dean Winchester had been selected especially for this mission.

His background was so top-secret, even Charlie herself didn’t have all the details. All she knew was that Sam and Dean Winchester were among the top specialists in their respective fields, and they’d had one hell of an upbringing. Dean was one of the best field agents they’d ever had, and if Sam was behind, it was by a fraction.

They were both recruited by ARTEMIS right out of the military. Dean first, three years ago. Sam came a year later.

Now Dean was in grave danger, caught between ARTEMIS and the Men of Letters.

“I’ve got compound security,” Kevin called out, letting out a sigh of relief.

Before Charlie could give the order, the technician leapt to his feet, gesturing wildly to the console by his headset. “Director, the audio is back. There’s a trace audio feed.”

Charlie snapped her fingers at Kevin to hold on as the technician turned up the speakers on the feed. The sound was barely audible – fractured and tinny and almost completely distorted – but it was there.

“ _Son of a bitch_!”

 

**04:49 AM  
PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS**

Dean swung his leg up high, hitting the assassin in the stomach. The impact was hard, sending a jarring sensation through Dean’s leg, but he couldn’t hear anything. He was still recovering from the bullet ricocheting off his Kevlar helmet and the explosion of static as his earpiece shorted. His head was spinning, sound blocked out by the loud ringing in his ears. His visor was cracked so badly that the slightest impact would send glass shattering into his face.

Dean pushed to his feet, his first thought of escaping with his life. Everything else came second, could be addressed later. Right now, his only choices were move or die.

He dove back over the table, flicking his foot up as soon as he landed and sending the table flying towards Halo. Dean didn’t stick around to see if it hit, just kept moving to seek out some form of cover. Ducking behind a filing cabinet, he caught his breath, taking stock of the situation. The room was dark again. His assailant had dropped his flashlight. At least that evened the playing field. Or maybe not.

Dean reached up to his visor and flicked a switch to turn on his night vision. A flicker of green, and then a second burst of static in his ear swiftly told him that the damage to the helmet was too great to sustain night-vision. The expensive ARTEMIS prototype was now useless, but he was sure they’d forgive him. If he survived.

He swiped a thumb tentatively over his now-broken rib, where the bullet had impacted. He hissed between his teeth. Pain, absolutely.  But no moisture. No blood.

“Liquid body armour,” the gravelly voice rang out, amused.

Dean’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, but he didn’t fall for the trap. There was no way Halo could see him, not in this darkness. He hadn’t been wearing any kind of headgear, he couldn’t have night-vision. Which meant he was trying to bait Dean into revealing his location. Not likely.

Still, the words made him uneasy. Dean _was_ wearing liquid body armour, another ARTEMIS prototype. While scientists had created a liquid body suit that protected from a high velocity projectile, it didn’t offer the range of movement required for this kind of mission. This material, while it shared similarities with Kevlar soaked in liquid, was thinner, lighter and far more flexible. It worked by running small currents over the expanse of the suit, creating an electromagnetic field that kept the particles of liquid all lined up, vastly thickening the material and protecting it from bullets.

So how did this assassin know that was what he was wearing? Did the Men of Letters reach extend so far that they had knowledge of ARTEMIS’ prototypes? Dean’s first thought was that it was impossible.

And yet…

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he spanned his gaze around the room, looking for any hint of movement in the shadows, while trying to limit his own movement. He drew his knife from the wrist sheath slowly, cursing that there was no way he could have brought something better. Like a grenade launcher to blow this asshole right out of the building. In pieces. But no, he had quite literally brought a knife to a gunfight.

Halo spoke again, his voice growing closer. “Even if you make it out of the building, you won’t make it out of the facility before I blow it sky-high. I barely even had to do any work, due to the chemical nature of the weapons stored here. A couple of well-timed sparks, and,” the man mimicked the noise of an explosion. “Of course, it’ll leave a crater where Pine Bluff used to be, but what can you do?”

Dean reacted on instinct. He couldn’t let this happen, no way. He edged towards the door, wary of the gun currently searching for him, but the stakes were too high. Gingerly, Dean pulled off his broken helmet and held back a sigh as the heat disappeared, the night air surrounding his face in its cool grasp.

His vision unobstructed once again, he looked for any movement in the shadows. He was in sight of the door, which had yet to open, so he knew the guy was still in the room somewhere. It was getting him to reveal his location that was going to be the tricky part. He was already sick of playing this game, and he needed to move quickly from here on out. The lack of Director Bradbury screaming in his ear was enough for Dean to know that he was on this own, and he’d be disavowed as a government asset if he was caught here.

Dean edged closer to the door, sticking close to the sides of the room where he knew the assassin wasn’t. Once he felt he was close enough to the door to make a dash for it, he knelt, placing his helmet silently on the floor. Slowly, Dean positioned his foot just below the lip of the visor and flicked his foot up.

The helmet arced through the air, and Dean watched it disappear on bated breath. Timing was everything here. This had to be executed perfectly.

_CRASH!_

The Kevlar helmet landed on top of one of the filing cabinets with a sound that almost shook the room, bouncing a couple of times before falling to the floor. Dean didn’t see it land the second time, as he was already running full pelt towards the door when the assassin open fired at the area where the helmet had landed. Dean saw the flashes from the muzzle catching the glint of silver from the necklace and blanched. Halo was closer to the door than anticipated, and he was already figuring out the ruse.

Dean whipped his arm back and threw his knife, watching as it impacted centre mass.

And then it bounced away, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as his wide eyes traced the path of his knife through the air and out of sight. He couldn’t slow himself down, rushing headlong towards the door and straight for the assassin as everything became clear.

Halo knew about the prototype liquid body armour because he was _wearing it_.

The Heckler and Koch lifted again, pointing directly at Dean’s face.

And this time, he had no helmet.

 

**05:05 AM  
WASHINGTON D.C.**

There was a loud crash, and then static as the audio feed died again.

The room stayed silent, waiting to see if they could pick up any more audio, but the static stopped too. The feed was officially dead. Nothing was coming from Dean’s radio except air.

“Director Bradbury?” Kevin was still on hold with Pine Bluff Arsenal security and was patiently awaiting orders.

Charlie closed her eyes, blocking out everything but the last sounds before the audio cut out, replaying them over and over in her head. A crash. But no sounds of pain, just the feed disappearing. Which meant–

“– He tossed the helmet.” Charlie realised, her eyes flying open. “Kevin, cut the line and dial right back. Let them know we’re having technical difficulties. We can buy Dean a little time.”

She turned her attention to the mission dossier. If anyone could handle this, Dean could. Sam too. If it was any other agent, she’d already have back-up storming the facility. But Dean and Sam were the best for a reason. There might still be some victory to claw back here, or at least damage limitation. It was the knowledge that Dean was her best agent that allowed Charlie to act on her blind faith.

ARTEMIS had already been watching the Winchester brothers back when Charlie herself was a field agent, following their military careers with interest. Sam and Dean had both been working towards a doctorate in their respective sciences. Dean, a final-year PhD student of Advanced Biology and Physics, dropped out and enlisted in the US Navy. Sam had followed a day later, abandoning his PhD in Forensic Medicine with only two years remaining.

They’d thrived in the Navy, recruited for Special Ops. Then something had happened. Something classified even above Charlie’s level. Something that had resulted in a dishonourable discharge for both brothers, who struggled to adjust to civilian life after eight years in the military.

As ARTEMIS’ newly promoted director, Charlie had offered to pay for their return to education. To pick up on their PhDs where they left off, with the offer of a job at the end of it; a job they weren’t required to take. Both had agreed, and both had accepted the job upon completion.

They were ARTEMIS’ best agents. They were different, and that made them great. But it also made them outsiders. Dean wouldn’t work with anyone except Sam. But Sam was in Cuba, not due back for another eight hours if everything went well.

Which meant Dean had gone alone.

“Director, I have security back on the line,” Kevin reminded her.

Charlie weighed up her options and then shook her head. “Five minutes.”

 

**05:06 AM  
PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS**

The first shot missed his ear by a fraction of inch, worsening the ringing in his ears.

Dean thanked every deity he’d ever heard of as he just leaned his head to the side before the shot was fired. He doubted he would get so lucky again.

The assassin had reacted too quickly, firing before making sure he had a shot lined up. The skill level executed in this ambush told Dean that Halo was calculating, precise, and left little room for error. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Dean charged, shoving him into the wall and pinning him there. One hand latched around the wrist of his hand and the other held his adversary by the throat. The gun was stuck between them. Even if Halo fired, the body armour would do the job. It would just be agonising.

It was.

The assassin fired, and the bullet struck Dean in the abdomen. The shockwave rippled through his body suit and Dean choked on air, winded like he’d been pounded in the gut by a two-by-four. It was almost instinct to recoil, to step away, but he didn’t. To step back would free the gun and mean his death.

He could feel the barrel of the gun lift as Halo tried to free it, and Dean knew he couldn’t stay there much longer. One of them needed to move first and it would have to be him. He tightened his grip on his assailant’s wrist and stepped back, pinning his arm to the wall. It pushed the gun uselessly to one side, but it didn’t stop Halo from firing. Twice. The muzzle flashes lit up their small corner of the room for just a second, but it was long enough for Dean to spot a black panel on the wall.

He zeroed in on it, before dropping his eyes to the floor and tracing the yellow lines that outlined the floor. In a swift motion, Dean drew his head back and smashed his forehead into the assassin’s face. Unfortunately, the Men of Letters trained their agents well, and he seemed to have expected it, turning his face to the side so Dean’s head met skull instead of softer, breakable tissue. But it worked, buying Dean enough time to pivot them both, planting his foot in Halo’s chest and sending him crashing to the floor inside the yellow square.

The next move was getting to the black box before the assassin could recover from the unexpected landing. He didn’t. Opening the box, Dean found what he was looking for and as he depressed the button, another bullet slammed into his lower back. His neck whipped back as his torso pushed forward, propelling him into the wall. Dean’s spine protested loudly at the pain, pain that was bringing tears to his eyes, but there was no second bullet to follow.

He turned, seeing Halo stunned as his hand ran over his suit, trying to work out what had happened. The gun slipped from his hand to the floor, uselessly. Clearly, the assassin wasn’t confident enough to continue the fight now the playing field was even. He kicked the gun towards Dean and placed his hands behind his head, dropping to the floor in surrender.

Dean smirked, scooping up the gun and walking over to the assassin. “That’s the downside to liquid body armour,” he shrugged. “Needs the electric currents on the surface to function at all, otherwise it’s just a body suit. Even something simple like an electromagnetic pulse can render it completely useless. And a facility that houses information on all of the U.S. chemical weapons, almost definitely has an instant failsafe to completely wipe their servers in case of a breach.”

The assassin sneered at him, defiant eyes telling Dean that he would never give up any information.

“You don’t have a detonator on you, I can see that. That’s the most unflattering part of these suits. Can’t hide anything. You’re too careful to put it down somewhere, it would be within reach. Which means there’s no detonator. A timer, then?”

Dean lowered his eyes to Halo’s wristwatch and watched the timer tick down. As soon as he read the display, he understood the sudden surrender. Just over four minutes. Not enough to establish any kind of contact with ARTEMIS. Definitely not enough time to get a bomb squad. Which meant he was on his own. The assassin was banking on his ability to escape while Dean was dealing with the explosive.

“Where’s the bomb, asshole?”

Silence.

Dean didn’t have time for this. Four minutes was barely long enough to disarm a bomb and that was without finding it first. Shooting him would do nothing, he needed to find some kind of bargaining chip. Something this guy wanted. His freedom and continued survival.

“Let me put this another way. The bomb you mentioned is probably going to take out this building too. You’re dead if I waste my time here and let the bomb go off. Or I could shoot you now and you’d still be dead. Alternatively, you could tell me where the damn bomb is, and make a run for it while I deal with it. You might just about get away with four minutes to go.”

A beat. Dean gave Halo until the count of five, and then he wasn’t wasting any more time. Just as he was about to cock the gun, the man gave up.

“On the roof.”

It was the only chance he had. Dean stuck around for a brief second to stare into the assassin’s eyes, promising him silently that they’d see each other again, before he turned and ran for the door, scooping up his knife as he passed it. He slammed through, all thoughts of stealth forgotten.

Dean sprinted for the stairwell before indecision struck him. Up or down? Up, there might be a roof door, but if there wasn’t, he would have wasted valuable time. Down would take more time but there was a guaranteed way up from the outside by scaling the building. Dean let instinct make the decision for him, leaping up three stairs at a time, up two floors. His heart was thudding and his entire body ached from each bullet impact, but he pushed through.

The population of the Pine Bluff and the staff onsite at the Arsenal accounted for more than 55,000 people. Dean couldn’t let that many people die.

There was no roof door. Dean cursed and wheeled around, heading into one of the labs. He didn’t slow down, just raised the confiscated Heckler and Koch and shot at the window three times as he ran full speed towards it. It spiderwebbed at the second bullet and shattered at the third.

Vaulting onto a desk, Dean threw himself onto the windowsill and grabbed the frame, careful to avoid what was left of the glass. Alarms were sounding, lights flickering on all around the compound, and a distant sound of voices. Dean ignored all of it. There was no time for subtlety. Shoving the gun haphazardly into his belt, he leapt for the roof, fingers grasping onto the edge of a venting pipe that he used to pull himself up.

Sand and gravel scraped below his boots as he spun around, looking for visible signs of a bomb, but it wouldn’t be left out in the open. There were too many places to hide it here. Vents, pipes, air ducts.

Where the hell was it?

He had about three minutes to go.

 

**05:09 AM  
WASHINGTON D.C.**

“What the fuck is he doing on the roof?” Charlie demanded, leaning in to look at the monitor, spotting Dean climbing up from the window. Oh, there would be hell to pay for this. Clandestine operation, her ass. “The Men of Letters agent?”

“No sign of pursuit. Presumed still in the building.”

Kevin wheeled around, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. “He tripped the alarm when he broke the window. They’re on alert now.”

Charlie paced, never taking her eyes off the screen. “What’s he doing? Can you zoom in?”

The technician nodded and after a few well-placed keystrokes, the image zoomed in, showing Dean Winchester in the worst shape Charlie had ever seen him. There didn’t seem to be any blood, which was a relief, but he looked harrowed and the way he was moving betrayed how much pain he was in. Thank God they’d given him that suit. The helmet was gone though, her theory had been right. Charlie watched anxiously as her budget went up in smoke.

He seemed to be looking for something, checking in every vent and pipe he came across. Had the agent hidden the HTV-I virus somewhere on the roof?

“Base security is responding,” Kevin turned to face the monitor, apprising himself of the situation quickly.

Charlie didn’t react for a few seconds, watching Dean’s urgent movements and she felt her blood run cold. “No,” she shook her head, her hands wringing together. “Keep them away. Tell them to start evacuating the entire compound.”

“Director?”

Charlie knew it seemed off that she’d suddenly changed her mind, but she knew her agent well enough to know something was terrible wrong here.

She steeled herself for any fallout from her decision.

“Do it.”

 

**05:10 AM  
PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS**

Dean felt the panic set in. Less than three minutes and he’d be blown sky high. On the plus side, he probably wouldn’t survive the explosion to face Director Bradbury’s wrath for this monumental screw up. Small mercies. He tried to block out the wailing alarm from the broken window and concentrate. There had been no earlier alarms, and there was no door to the roof. Which meant the assassin must have scaled the building, probably using the same pipe Dean had used. He would have kept low to remain undetected. His feet would have scuffed the floor, leaving marks in the sand and gravel pushed to each side.

Dean’s eyes traced an imaginary path through the sand, following the uneven layers. His steps were cautious, but he moved quickly across the roof towards a grate. A few steps away, he could see a faint crimson glow inside the vent, which materialised into numbers as he approached.

_00:02:23._

_00:02:22._

_00:02:21._

He could see areas where the grate had been tampered with and his face darkened, resigned to his fate as he registered what he was looking at. A nuclear bomb. He was about to _pick up_ a bomb. Why did he volunteer for this shit? Reluctantly, he reached out to yank the grate out of his way. As soon as his fingers made contact with the metal, there was a small _pop_! Sparks jumped between the grate and Dean’s fingers and threw him back about a dozen feet.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean wheezed, trying to catch his breath. That had been some shock, and if he hadn’t been wearing leather gloves and rubber soles, Dean was pretty sure he’d be in a much worse state. He looked down at his suit, feeling the density change almost instantly. Gone was the thickness, the constant pressure that kept him safe. The current from the sparks had separated the particles, leaving him with a lightweight suit that offered very little protection. Fuck.

Any protection he might have had from an explosion was gone, as the crude booby trap had rendered his body armour completely inert.

“Well that’s just fan-freakin’-tastic,” Dean muttered, scrambling back to his feet and heading back to the grate. He hoped that the trap was a one-time thing and he was now free to move the cover, which was confirmed when he wasn’t thrown back again. Exhaling in relief, Dean gingerly reached inside the vent and eased the bomb out.

It wasn’t huge, but it didn’t need to be. The plutonium-uranium combination inside would cause most of the damage. The explosive was just to trigger the chemical reaction in the core.

_00:01:58._

_00:01:57._

_00:01:56._

Dean tore off his gloves with his teeth as he looked over the metal casing, trying to discern if he could disarm the bomb with the limited – by which he meant _none_ – tools at his disposal. Naturally, it was rigged against tampering. Less than two minutes wasn’t enough time to study the bomb and disconnect the timer. It was going to go off, there was no way to stop it. He was out of options.

Unless…

What did he know about nuclear bombs? They needed to be stable. The almost-disaster at Goldsboro in ‘61 had seen to that, when all but one of the safety devices on the nukes had failed. One switch had prevented a nuclear warhead from wiping out most of eastern North Carolina. While this crude device was obviously not being held to army standards, the Men of Letters wouldn’t want to lose a competent agent. Even in his burning hatred and his desire to kill the assassin, Dean could admit he was competent. He wasn’t sent here to be a sacrificial lamb, which meant there would be precautions against the bomb going off. So, how would that help?

Bombs were tricky, particularly nuclear bombs. For the bomb to function and reach the thermonuclear stage, everything needed to happen simultaneously. The plutonium had to be precisely compressed, splitting the nuclei and releasing the neutrons in the form of radiation. If something jammed, or broke, the bomb might still go off, but the radioactive materials wouldn’t factor. It would just be a regular explosion.

Dean knew that was the best outcome he could hope for. He couldn’t stop this bomb, but he could do damage limitation.

_00:01:44._

_00:01:43._

_00:01:42._

Dean hesitated for only a moment, his thoughts drifting to his brother, his family. If this was to be his last action in the world, he would take it knowing he’d done his best. He had no regrets, except maybe that he wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Sammy.

If he could start all over again, he would still end up working for ARTEMIS. He would still end up here.

Dean took a deep breath and sprinted for the edge of the roof. Using the momentum, he pulled his arm back and released the bomb.

His heart skipped a beat as he watched it arc through the air and begin to fall, plummeting down the six-storey drop.

 

**05:11 AM  
WASHINGTON D.C.**

“Is that a _nuke_? Did he just throw a fucking nuclear bomb off the roof?” Kevin cried out, leaping to his feet and sending the contents of his desk crashing to the floor. He was barely aware of it, eyes fixed on the monitor and Dean’s suicidal acts. He was trying to kill himself, he had to be.

Either that or he had an incredibly clever, maniacal plan that would stop a nuclear explosion from destroying an entire town.

“He’s insane,” the tech snapped, zooming out so they could track both Dean and the bomb.

Charlie smiled, shaking her head as she watched the screen, although it wasn’t quite a refute. “He’s brilliant.”

 

**05:11 AM  
PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS**

Dean backed away from the edge a few steps, bracing for the sound of impact. He knew what to expect if the bomb went off, whether it triggered the plutonium pit or not. He wouldn’t be able to escape death either way. At the sound of metal hitting tarmac, but no succeeding explosion, Dean released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

There was no time to waste now. He dropped over the side of the building, sliding down the pipe he’d scaled from the window earlier. Without his gloves, Dean could feel the sandpaper texture of the pipe against his skin. The friction burned his palms, and Dean gritted his teeth as he felt the skin of his palms tear and burn away as he slid to the floor, leaving streaks of blood down the pipe. Fuck, that was painful. But a small price to pay if it saved his life.

His feet braced as he hit the ground, boots protecting him from any potential breaks or fractures, but the impact jarring him nonetheless. Dean stumbled from the landing but recovered quickly as he raced across the tarmac towards the bomb. He could hear sirens and raised voices and there were lights flickering over the rest of the facility. Either Charlie had figured out something had gone amiss and was taking precautions, or he was about to spend the rest of his life in a prison cell.

He dropped to his knees in front of the bomb and yanked at the now loosened metal panels to reveal the inside of the nuke’s shell. The timer was defunct, betraying the damage to the internal workings. Dean’s mind was screaming at him to run, that he had just over a minute to get clear of the explosion, but he didn’t move. A broken timer didn’t prove that he’d disrupted the atomic aspect of the bomb. He could simply have shattered the display and the bomb could still be active.

He needed to be sure.

Cutting the wires was risky. One wrong cut and the bomb would detonate early. He could see the plutonium core sealed in the middle of the bomb. Silver-grey, in the shape of a truncated icosahedron, surrounded by metal fixtures and explosives.

Dean hesitated for a split-second, and then yanked the pit from the wreckage of the bomb with the tips of his fingers, rising to get clear of the explosion. A sound registered and he stilled at the sound of a gun cocking behind him. The agent?

“Stop right there! Get down on your knees and put your hands in the air!”

A soldier.

Someone who was trained to shoot first and ask questions later.

 _Goddamnit_.

**05:11 AM  
WASHINGTON D.C.**

Charlie hissed, watching the guard approach. She understood everything that had happened so far, conclusions were easy to draw between the gunshots and the nuke. Dean had gone in to get a pathogen off the streets and take down a trafficker with too much access. Clearly, the HTV-I virus had never been for sale, or it had been sold long ago and this had all been a ruse to get at ARTEMIS. To get back at _her_ for what had happened with Rowena. Dean was just caught in the crossfire.

The problem was, she also understood the math.

They’d handled explosives before, of course. Things like this came up far more frequently than Charlie would have liked, but her agents could handle themselves. There was always a bomb expert on hand for this kind of issue.

Unfortunately, the bomb expert they kept on hand was Dean.

Five minutes would have been enough for him to disarm that nuke. Which meant there had been less than that on the timer when he found it. From her calculations, Charlie knew Dean had two minutes or less before that bomb exploded, and from the look of urgency on his face, he was running out of time.

Charlie’s eyes drifted over to the Private First Class pointing his weapon at the back of Dean’s head.

“Why aren’t they evacuating?” She demanded.

Kevin pulled the mouthpiece away, covering it with his hand. “They are, they couldn’t get in touch with one of their patrols, this must be him. His radio is off. Probably having a sneaky cigarette.”

Charlie pursed her lips. “He’s going to get them both killed.”

 

**05:12 AM  
PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS**

Dean stilled, recognising the authority of a fellow military man. He knew how this looked, knew that the soldier behind him wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. At this close range, with Dean’s suit defunct and unable to protect him, the soldier wouldn’t miss, either.

Dean swept his foot out, swiping his gun a few meters to the side and slowly raised his hands, but didn’t kneel. “Commander Dean Winchester, formerly of the U.S. Navy, SEAL team three. There is less than a minute left on this bomb, and you need to either let me disarm it or we need to get clear of the blast radius.”

“I don’t need to let you do shit. Stay where you are.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice even. “Look at my right hand. I’m currently holding the plutonium core, but this bomb is still going to go off. I’m authorised to be here, the rest of your base is fully aware of my presence,” he lied. “We have less than one minute before this bomb goes off and we’re both blown to pieces.”

Silence. The man kept his gun trained on Dean as he reached for his radio to check in. Dean hoped Charlie would have handled this by now, but he didn’t have any more time to negotiate, or prove his identity and his mission. He took a tentative step forward, hands still raised in surrender, showing he wasn’t a threat.

“I said _don’t fucking move_ ,” the soldier bellowed, and Dean froze again, weighing up his options.

He wouldn’t survive the explosion. Depending on where he was hit, he could survive a gunshot. His odds would only increase if the soldier was distracted. He held up the plutonium core, secured between his index finger and thumb, ignoring the pain in his blood-slick palms at the movement. Intense heat was searing through the parts of his hand the plutonium had touched and his skin sizzled. Radiation burns. Like the heat of the sun, only from inches away. Dean couldn’t hold the core any longer.

“You need to dispose of this properly. It’s fine to handle for a short time, as long as you don’t do anything stupid with it. Like say… letting it hit the ground.”

With that, Dean pitched the pit straight over his shoulder towards the private, who dropped his gun in an attempt to catch it. Dean didn’t hesitate, just started sprinting in the opposite direction. Naturally, there was no issue with the plutonium hitting the ground. There wasn’t enough force to bring about any kind of reaction. But not everyone would know that, and Dean was willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that the guy currently fumbling a catch didn’t know either.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” The soldier bellowed, but Dean ignored him. He rounded the corner of Laboratory 12-A and gained a few seconds cover as he charged for the fence. He wasn’t sure he’d have time to clear the fence before the private started shooting, but he had to try. It was his only shot of getting clear of the bomb.

He put on a burst of speed as he neared the fence, scaling up it and ignoring the bursts of pain to his hands. It only took him seconds to clear the fence and he threw himself over the top of the barbed wire, missing it by a mere inch.

Tucking his shoulders in, Dean rolled into his landing, thrown unceremoniously onto the ground as a thunderous boom sounded from behind him, and the ground shook. Dean didn’t stick around to see what the aftermath of the explosion was, he wasn’t sure he was out of danger just yet. He ran, back towards where he’d left his motorcycle earlier, only risking a look back when he reached the tree line.

The explosion left chaos in its wake. A billowing cloud of smoke and dust rose from the site and although they were far preferable to a mushroom cloud, Dean couldn’t help but feel regret for the destruction caused by the Men of Letters. He took a moment to catch his breath, surveying the facility. Laboratory 12-A was ablaze, flickers of orange were breaking through the opaque plume and, distantly, Dean could hear yells and a faint sound of alarms.

He looked towards the fence for any sign of the soldier that had been giving chase, but there was nothing. Dean bowed his head for a moment, rage flooding through him. If that blue-eyed Russian bastard wasn’t burning alive in that lab, Dean would make him pay for this when they met again. There had been too much collateral damage tonight. An innocent soldier had martyred in a war that had nothing to do with him.

Dean straightened to his full height, ignoring the aches and pain flooding through his entire body as he gave a salute, a final gesture of respect.

It was with a melancholy weight in his chest that Dean slipped away into the last remains of darkness, finding his motorcycle. the vehicle was still safely in its hiding place. He turned the key in the ignition and it came to life, much to Dean’s relief. His hands stung as they wrapped around the handlebars, and Dean recoiled when he touched something metal.

He pulled back, bringing the object looped around his handlebar with him and holding it up, his eyes narrowing and his jaw clenched. His hand curled around it and he shoved it into his pocket before revving the throttle and speeding off into the night.

He’d have to find somewhere discreet to get his wounds checked out before he made his escape. Washington would be expecting him, but they didn’t have the means to deal with potential radiation poisoning.

Then he could take a closer look at the object that had been wrapped around his handlebars.

A silver chain, with a halo pendant.

 

**05:15 AM  
WASHINGTON D.C.**

Charlie sank into a chair behind her desk as she saw Dean escape unpursued into the woods. There was no doubt that the Men of Letters agent had gotten away. She’d seen no signs of the assassin, but her satellite wasn’t omniscient. She could only track one person at a time and her priority was her best agent.

She poured herself a drink, reaching for the Drambuie. Not a drink for everyday occasions, but celebrations and times of great stress. She wasn’t sure which occasion this was. Both, maybe. She turned to give Kevin orders, but he seemed to have everything well under control, passing information to those who would handle the official story of Pine Bluff.

A gas leak and a decommissioned nuke that had been overlooked during the purge seemed to be the cover story that Kevin was feeding everyone who needed to know. By the time it became public knowledge, nobody would ever know ARTEMIS had been involved.

The technician touched his finger to his earpiece, turning to Charlie. “Ma’am, I have a telephone call from the director of DARPA.”

Charlie nodded, picking up her phone and pressing a few buttons. It wasn’t surprising that Chuck Shurley would be calling for answers about the catastrophic events of the night. Still, she hadn’t expected him to hear about it so soon. “Director Shurley?”

“Charlie.” Even through the line, Charlie could hear how tired her boss sounded, more so than when Chuck was in her position and she was a simple field agent. “There’s been an unusual situation in France. A secure storage facility, one of the best protected sites in the world, was breached yesterday. A professional job, from what I could gather. The death toll isn’t exactly high, but there’s something unusual about it. I need you to put a team on this and they need to be in Lyon by tomorrow. Well, tonight.”

“It’s that urgent?” Charlie queried. This wasn’t how things usually worked. Normally they’d be given a chance to gather intel before mobilising a team.

“More urgent. I don’t have all the details; they’ll be sent to you as soon as I have them. Charlie, I need your best man on this. Consider this your top priority.”

Charlie gave a half-glance towards the monitor. “I have just the agent. Dare I ask what the urgency is? Can you tell me anything, sir?”

“Just that orders come from higher up the command chain. Your team was specifically requested.”

Suddenly tense, Charlie was reluctant to ask for more information. Naturally there were higher ups that would know of the existence of ARTEMIS, but they were mostly discreet. They had never been personally requested before. Still, she wouldn’t send a team in blind, so she pushed for a little more.

“Requested by –?”

Chuck sighed. “By the Vatican.”


	2. Chiaroscuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has left me a kudos or a comment so far. I love you all.

**APRIL 23RD** **, 12:13 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Professor Claire Novak took in a deep breath and exhaled.

This was possibly her favourite place in Rome. The Galleria Borghese was home to some of the most amazing pieces of artwork the world had to offer. She was quite certain that if she had any skill in painting or sculpture, she would be able to recreate some of the pieces from memory alone.

She pulled her jacket further around herself with a slight shiver. The museum wasn’t cold per se, but it was kept at a cooler temperature, both to keep things comfortable for the patrons and artwork and to combat the strong Italian heat outside.

Claire stopped to admire one of the gallery’s most famous artworks, _Boy with a Basket of Fruit_. She spent a few moments appreciating the skill represented in the painting, the various techniques and colours utilised by Caravaggio.

" _Professoressa, cosa ha questo dipinto che le piace così tanto? Se posso chiedere_."

“In English.” Claire stopped her research assistant with a smile. Patience Turner was a nice girl, enthusiastic about her chosen field and very hardworking. Unfortunately, she had almost completed her degree while speaking no English. Not that it was an issue when they both lived in the centre of Rome, but the language barrier limited her options – in an already limited field. Claire had taken it upon herself to teach her protégé fluency in English.

American by birth, Claire had lived in Pontiac, Illinois with her parents until her father’s disappearance when she was only nine months old. Her mother, Amelia, had raised her for another year before dropping her off at her grandmother’s and disappearing with no explanation.

When her grandmother died only a few months later, Claire moved into a foster home, where she’d been fortunate enough to be adopted very quickly. Jody and Donna had taken her in along with a few of their other children. It wasn’t until she was working on her doctorate that Claire had made Italy her new home, but she still considered herself American at heart.

She only had one picture of her mother, and even now she kept it on her person. Still, she loved Jody and Donna with all her heart, and had never acted on her desire to track down her mother for an explanation. Nothing would take away the sting of abandonment or the years of insecurity.

“What is it that you like about the painting?” Patience’s words came slow, unsure, but Claire was delighted that there were no mistakes, pleased with her assistant’s progress.

Such a question deserved a well thought out answer, so Claire spent a few moments musing over the painting. “Caravaggio’s portrayal of texture is amazing,” she decided eventually. “In one canvas, he can convey different textures, like human skin, the softness of hair, the weave of the fruit basket and the fuzzy skin of a peach. It demonstrates his skill while not being too blatant.”

Patience nodded eagerly, hanging onto her every word. Claire repressed a smile, remembering back in her eager student days, which weren’t all that long ago when she thought about it. She was only in her late twenties, but her undergraduate days seemed a lifetime ago.

“I like his use of _chiaroscuro_ ,” Patience mused, stepping a little closer to the painting. “The contrasts between light and dark. It makes the object of his paintings stand out, particularly when so many of them have such dark subject matter. This one is a rarity, with no torture or death. This is just a boy with fruit.”

Claire laughed, nodding in both agreement and approval. “ _Molto bene_. You think Caravaggio has a specific style, then? That you can identify a Caravaggio painting just from his dark subject matter and tenebrism?”

“ _Si,_ _Professoressa_. If you hang multiple paintings next to each other, you would easily be able to see a theme.”

A wry smile flickered across Claire’s face and she stepped back, her hands spread out in invitation as she gestured with a flick of her head towards an approaching rotund man in a charcoal suit. “Well, we’re about to find out if that’s true. It looks like the curator is ready for us.”

Patience frowned. “ _Professoressa_? I thought this was just a field trip, why are we meeting with the curator?”

A playful glint entered Claire’s eyes. It was a last-minute trip, but she’d deliberately kept the true reason for their visit to herself, wanting to surprise her protégé. “We’re here to authenticate a recently discovered Caravaggio painting.”

She turned to greet the curator, Signore Phelps, with an enthusiastic handshake and receiving a kiss on both cheeks. As a renowned art historian in Rome, this wasn’t the first time Claire had been consulted for authenticating possible acquisitions. She doubted it would be the last. Hopefully this time would be just as simple as the others. While she loved a challenge, she also had a lunch date with her girlfriend that she didn’t want to miss.

Stepping aside, she introduced her protégé, watching as Signore Phelps’ handshake was much less eager and his gaze a tad more dismissive than it had been a few moments ago. She kept her smile bright, knowing Patience’s skill would speak for itself. Claire hadn’t picked just anyone to be her assistant, after all. She’d picked the best.

They were led through the museum, past a rope barrier and upstairs to the offices. It was a much more optimal temperature here and Claire felt herself relax as she adjusted to the change. The décor upstairs was similar to the gallery, with intricate flooring and carved walls, but to a lesser degree. The curator’s office itself was cosy, with emerald green chintz armchairs opposite a deep mahogany desk.

Claire waited until Signore Phelps offered her a seat before taking it, casting her gaze around the room. The Caravaggio wasn’t here, not yet. It would be brought up from the basement along with a security escort, to ensure the safety of the painting. It was simply standard procedure.

What Claire wasn’t expecting was the two men wearing body armour and packing M16 rifles escorting the painting. That, she knew, was not standard procedure. She was too polite to ask but not so polite as to pretend she hadn’t noticed, cocking an eyebrow at the curator. Her fleeting glance had shown her that they were private security. Interesting.

Signore Phelps leaned in close, lowering his voice significantly. “There was an attempted robbery at Castel Sant’Angelo last night. I’m not sure precisely what was stolen – if anything – but I felt certain precautions should be taken, _si_?”

“Absolutely,” Claire responded, her interest caught by the news of the robbery. She’d have to ask Kaia if anything had been taken. There were some beautiful pieces in Castel Sant’Angelo. “I’m honoured that you would still request my services when you’ve increased your security measures.”

“Of course. We have an understanding, you and I,” Signore Phelps boasted.  “Besides, if you cannot trust an old friend, who can you trust?” He rose from his chair and gestured for Claire to approach the painting. She did so, beckoning Patience with her. There was always the opportunity to learn something new.

Turning her attention to the painting, Claire’s focus started on the back of the canvas, taking in all the details. She was aware of the looks from her assistant, but said nothing, just traced her eyes over the back of the frame.

“Uh,” Patience began awkwardly. “ _Professoressa_ , I think the painting is on the other side of the canvas?”

Claire smiled dryly, turning her attention to her assistant for a long moment before addressing the question. “Of course. Attention to detail is important. Tell me, can you picture Botticelli’s _The Birth of Venus_? Completely, utterly, in your head?”

“Yes, of course! It’s a masterpiece.”

Claire could hear her student’s confusion at the non-sequitur, but she wasn’t ready to share yet. “Is that so? Then what is Venus standing on?”

“A giant shell.”

“Good. How many figures are present in the painting?”

“Four.” Patience answered, a little smugly. She was clearly confident with her knowledge of _The Birth of Venus_ , but Claire knew there was a large gap in her knowledge.

“Can you tell me what is on the back of the canvas?”

Patience opened her mouth to reply and then hesitated, her jaw going slack with surprise. Claire hid her triumphant smile as she revealed the front of the painting, turning her attention back to her assistant as she made her point.

“Exactly. It’s mounted on a wall and kept behind glass. Very few people in the world could. Distinctive marks, smudges, signatures can help distinguish between a forgery and a legitimate Renaissance or Baroque painting. Caravaggio has only ever signed one of his paintings, and it was worked into the painting itself. The presence of a signature on the back would have confirmed this as a fake.”

Chastised, Patience nodded mutely, her eyes fixed on the painting. Claire could tell that she was now working to redeem herself for her error and was content to let her do so. She had faith in Patience’s abilities.

It took Claire less than a minute to determine the status of the painting’s authenticity, without a shred of doubt in her mind. Of course, the museum wouldn’t just take her word for it. There would be tests, of age, of paint colours. Various experts would be consulted. Still, she was renowned in her field, and her decision would be taken as unofficial truth until proven.

“Patience,” she prompted. “What do you think?”

Patience looked nervous, as if suddenly put on the spot. It was clear she wasn’t expecting to be consulted on the decision, at least not publicly. Her eyes flickered to the curator and then to Claire, and she straightened up.

“Well, I – I think that I would say that – I don’t think Caravaggio painted this,” she stammered, wringing her hands in anxiety at such a bold declaration. “There are a lot of his themes present, of course. His technique of using shadow to emphasise light, his early preference for painting effeminate young men, rich red drapes… and yet it doesn’t _feel_ like a Caravaggio. I can’t put my finger on it, but I would swear that this wasn’t painted by the same man who painted Death of the Virgin.”

Signore Phelps turned alarmingly scarlet and mopped at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. It was clear that this was not the kind of news he wanted. Claire could only imagine the kind of money he would make if he could display a newly discovered Caravaggio in the gallery.

“And you?” He barked at Claire. “What’s your opinion?”

“Oh, it’s undeniably a fake,” she agreed. “My protégé was quite right. Someone was trying hard to make this look like a Caravaggio. They even recreated his attention to detail, like painting dirty fingernails and blackened soles of feet.”

Signore Phelps sighed, accepting that this would not be the day he became rich overnight. “So, what appears to be the problem? All I’ve heard so far is that it’s an excellent attempt at creating a Caravaggio painting. What makes you so sure it’s not?”

“The problem is that Caravaggio was orphaned at eleven years old. He grew up poor and he never forgot that in his success. He  _revered_ the peasantry. Unfortunately, this screams quite the opposite. Matted, greasy hair, dirty hands. There’s no reverence here. Just revulsion.”

“ _Dio mio,_ ” Signore Phelps muttered, fat, stubby fingers splayed as he pressed his hands to his face. “You’re certain?”

Claire checked her watch discreetly and took a pointed step away from the canvas. It was time for her lunch date with Kaia and she needed to drop off Patience at the university if she wanted to make it on time.

“As certain as I can be without absolute proof. I apologise for being the bearer of such disappointing news. A new Caravaggio would be a blessing upon the world.”

Signore Phelps didn’t reply, muttering to himself as he scrawled some information down on a sheet of paper, pushing it towards Claire to sign. She looked over it briefly and scrawled her signature with satisfaction. A substantial fee for a small amount of work. She could afford to upgrade her motorcycle and buy Kaia something nice.

“My apologies, Signore, but I have a lunch date that I’m unable to cancel, so I must take my leave. I’m happy to assist you again if you have need of me. Come, Patience, I’ll take you back to the university.”

She swept out of the office without waiting for a response, her assistant at her heels.

 

 **01:14 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Claire rushed across the piazza towards the restaurant, breathing heavily from the exertion. She was so late; Kaia was going to kill her. Hopefully the news of the big pay day and subsequent gift would be enough to minimise her chances of sleeping on the couch tonight.

Checking her appearance as she passed a store window, Claire felt a little better about being late. She’d only had a few moments once she’d dropped Patience back at the university to freshen up. She’d changed into a knee-length, spaghetti-strapped, orange summer dress that Kaia had bought her a while back and she’d never worn. Claire was much more comfortable in skinny jeans and her leather jacket, but she was making an effort to be more presentable.

Her sandals slapped against the cobblestone as she approached the restaurant, swerving around tourists and cyclists alike, only slowing down when the restaurant came into view. She wished she’d brought her motorcycle, but a short dress was not the best attire for speeding through the busy streets of Rome. Italians were impatient drivers, and she was sure Kaia would rather she arrived late but in one piece than not at all.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite sister,” a voice hailed her from the left.

Claire wheeled around, a bright smile on her face as she greeted her brother. He looked good, a healthy pallor to his tanned skin, his floppy golden hair falling into his eyes. “Jack! It’s so good to see you!”

Not her brother by birth, Jack Kline was another of Jody and Donna’s wayward children, taken in after the death of his mother. Only a few years older than Claire, he was the closest thing to a father figure she had, and she loved him dearly. Despite both of them living in Italy, they didn’t get to see each other as often as she would like, a mixture of her busy schedule and Jack’s day job. He’d grown up with the strongest faith Claire had ever known, and his long-term goal had always been to protect the Pope as a member of the Swiss Guard. Two years ago, he’d achieved that dream.

“Likewise,” Jack murmured, reaching out for an embrace. He pressed a kiss to each of Claire’s cheeks and then grasped her shoulders, pulling back to get a good look at her. “I almost didn’t recognise you in that outfit. Dressed like an actual lady instead of – how did Alex put it? – a regular biker Barbie.”

Scowling good-naturedly at the mention of their sister, Claire shoved Jack’s shoulder and gave a defensive shrug. “Yeah, well, Alex dresses like she missed her calling as Nosferatu’s mistress, so I don’t give a crap what she thinks. Besides, you’re one to talk. Half the time you’re in that stupid Swiss Guard uniform. Those pantaloons,” she snickered.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh away. It’s an important job, even if the uniform leaves a lot to be desired. Besides, I don’t just stand there and take pictures with tourists all day.”

“I’m sure. Given that you were waiting for me, I assume Kaia invited you to lunch?”

A hesitation. “Not exactly. Kaia’s not coming.”

Claire blinked. “Huh?”

“I called her and explained, but I need to steal you away for a while. She was very accepting once she understood that my reasons were important. Walk with me to Vatican City so we can talk?”

Claire felt something akin to wariness flood through her body. “Jack, what’s going on? I can’t just go to the Vatican. I’m not dressed properly. Besides, I only have a couple of hours and then I have to get back, I’m teaching this afternoon.”

“I already called the Rector. You’ve been placed on sabbatical for the week, Patience will cover your classes,” Jack told her firmly, shrugging off his jacket and draping it around Claire’s shoulders.

“What-” Claire began hotly, but Jack cut her off.

“Now you’re respectable, your shoulders and knees are covered. I know you must have questions, but I need you to trust me, just for a little while. I’ll explain everything when we get to the Vatican.”

She hesitated for a beat longer and then inclined her head, admitting defeat. Whatever this great mystery was, it must be important. Jack didn’t make a habit of doing anything like this. For him to call up the university and have her placed on sabbatical… not only was it so out of character, it was a display of power that Claire hadn’t even known Jack had. It seemed the Vatican had influence everywhere.

“Fine. But I want some answers.”

At that, Jack gave her a warm smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. I promise to explain when we’re there.”

She was a bit uneasy at the secrecy, but Claire felt no shame over that. Something about Jack’s manner was worrying, and she wouldn’t apologise for it. She watched her brother as they walked back across the piazza, wondering when he’d gotten so old. In his late twenties, Jack had tension in his shoulders and a wisdom in his eyes that belied his years. He’d always been sensible, she remembered that from when they were kids. He’d supported and encouraged her, always there with a kind ear and a fierce, defensive kind of love that had fought for her on some memorable occasions in high school.

He’d been the one to notice her love of art and history and set her on the path that had led them both here. Even though he longed for her to share his faith in a way she never would, Claire owed him for pushing her to pursue her dream.

If he needed her help, she couldn’t refuse him.

They walked across the piazza to where Jack had left his Fiat Panda. Black, discreet, and Jack’s pride and joy. Claire climbed into the passenger seat and buckled herself in, still trying to shake the unease.

Jack slid in beside her, shooting her a wide grin as he reached into the glove box for a pair of sunglasses, before pulling out and heading towards the Colosseum. They didn’t speak, Jack focused on weaving in and out of the traffic, and Claire lost in her own thoughts. What could Jack need her for? If they were heading to Vatican City, it had to be of Vatican interest.

She only glanced up when a particularly risky swerve into a tiny gap in traffic earned Jack the blare of an angry driver’s horn. Italian drivers, particularly in Rome, were known for being heavy-footed when it came to driving. They were too often irritated at the sluggish driving of foreign tourists. Having lived in Italy for several years, Claire and to a lesser extent, Jack, were both used to driving at faster speeds.

Perhaps too fast, if the angry gesturing of the surrounding drivers was anything to go by.

Jack ignored everyone, focusing on weaving in and out of the traffic as he navigated through the streets of Rome. Perhaps his concentration was why Claire focused her attention outside of the car. Whatever the reason, it caused her to spot the black sedan that stayed a few cars behind them, following the exact same path as they zigzagged between lanes.

She discreetly glanced at Jack to see if he noticed, but he seemed unaware. It filled her with no small amount of dread. Just what exactly was it that he’d gotten her mixed up in?

Why was someone following them?

She chewed her lip awkwardly as she kept half an eye on their tail for a few streets, just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.

“Jack –”

“I know,” he assured her, casually, and for the first time she saw his eyes narrow as they flickered to the rear-view mirror. “Don’t worry, we’ll soon be there.”

Claire nodded, but she clutched at her seatbelt anxiously until they pulled into the underground parking lot of Vatican City. No sign of the sedan. She relaxed as they exited the parking lot and made their way across St. Peter’s Square. Still, Jody and Donna had hammered into her a healthy level of paranoia about women being followed. Even with Jack by her side, Claire kept one hand inside her purse, clutching her can of mace.

They weaved their way through the smattering of tourists heading for St. Peter’s Basilica. Jack spared no glance for the groups of sightseers with cameras and cell phones, taking selfies and group snaps and listening animatedly to tour guides.

Claire fell half a step behind Jack as they approached the gate. The tourists were already streaming in, but Jack bypassed them all, flashing his laminated pass at the Swiss Guard standing there, hands folded neatly behind his back. The guard glanced at it and waved them both through, barely sparing Claire a glance. Clearly, he’d been told to expect her. She followed Jack down the Via Sant’Anna, her eyes bugging as they began heading towards the Apostolic Palace.

If Claire had questioned the amount of influence Jack had exerted that day, she stopped now. It was practically unheard of for any citizen to obtain an invitation to view the home of the Pope himself. Very few people were afforded that privilege. She now understood exactly how Jack had obtained the sabbatical from her Rector.

There were very few doors the Holy See could not open, and fewer still within the heart of Rome.

Curiosity laced with reverence forced her to tear her eyes away from the ground to take in the sights. She’d seen the outside of the Apostolic Palace on her numerous trips to the Vatican. She’d even been lucky enough to experience  _il Conclave_ while living in Rome, standing amidst the huge crowd in the piazza as the cardinals elected their new Pope. She still remembered the cheers and joy from the crowd at the sign of the white smoke.

Still, the Sistine Chapel was one of the few areas of the Palace open to public viewing. The home of His Holiness was not. From the looks of it, that was where they were aiming for.

Claire was suddenly struck with the horror that she might possibly be going to meet the Pope and looked down at her casual sundress in dismay. She took a deep breath and rational thought took over. No, Jack wouldn’t do this to her. He’d let her go home and change if he was going to spring something like this on her. Besides, why would the Pope want to meet her? She was just an art historian. A teacher.

She could feel the questioning gazes of the Swiss Guard on duty at the first checkpoint into the Palace, but Jack offered no explanation, just showed his identification and then murmured something that Claire couldn’t quite overhear. It only served to pique her curiosity further, but she’d promised to wait and she knew answers were coming.

She followed Jack into the building, down grandiose hallways and stairs until Claire was sure she would never find her way out of the building if she got separated. Her only thought was that they must be deep underneath Vatican City by this point. Eventually they reached a thick wooden door and came to a halt. Producing a large iron key, Jack unlocked it, stepping inside and holding it open for her.

She stepped inside, peering around the room in awe. It was unlike anything she’d expected to see inside the Vatican. Despite the archaic nature of the building, this room was sleek, modern, brightly lit with electric ceiling lights. A modern black office chair and desk were positioned in the centre of the room, the stone walls lined with bookcases decorated with ancient tomes. Claire doubted they were just for show. The desk was neat and organised, with a laptop positioned in front of the office chair, and an empty paper tray.

“What is this place?” Claire asked, taking a seat across from the desk without waiting to be offered.

Jack spread his arms out in welcome. “My office.”

“But _why_ do you have an office?” She pressed, impatiently. “No offence, Jack, but the last I checked, the Swiss Guard were supposed to stand outside and keep order. Protect the Pope. Not… push paper.”

Jack walked over to a small cabinet behind the door and picked up a cup. “Coffee? Or perhaps something a little stronger? I have whiskey, and you’re looking a little pale.”

“No, I don’t want any – Jack, will you tell me what the hell –” she paused apologetically at the curse and lowered her tone. “What’s going on? You just pulled some serious strings to get me out of work for a week and you’re acting really weird.”

Jack sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. “Fair enough. Have you heard about the attack in Lyon?”

Claire blinked at the non-sequitur. It had shocked Europe, hearing the news of the terrorist attack in France. Particularly an attack on a church. Claire could only imagine exactly how such an action had shaken the Vatican. Still, they had kept uncharacteristically quiet on the subject, declining to make a public statement.

“Yes, I caught the news broadcast. Such a tragedy. They said it was a random terrorist attack?”

Jack shook his head, worrying at his lower lip. “No, that’s not quite true. You see, what the Vatican has been keeping quiet is that the church that was attacked wasn’t actually a church. It maintains appearances as one, but it hasn’t held services in quite some time. The church was a secure deposit for some of the Vatican’s most precious relics and artworks, the ones that aren’t kept here in the archives.”

Claire blinked. “You’re telling me the Vatican decommissioned a church and turned it into a secret storage facility?” She made no attempt to hide her scepticism; Jack had to know how far-fetched this sounded.

“Probably dozens, but very few people are privy to that information,” Jack told her, without cracking a smile. His eyes stayed fixed on her, solemn and unmistakably honest. “I’m not one of them. All I know is what I was told. The terrorist attack was actually a robbery, and some very important relics were taken. But that’s not all. There’s one other very important fact being concealed from the public.”

“And that is?” Claire asked, warily.

“The cause of death of the ten guards within the facility. Some were shot, of course. But the majority… they seem to have been killed with a toxin unlike anything we’ve ever seen. They turned feral and ate each other to death.”

Claire blanched. How awful. “How do you know all this?”

Jack hesitated. “You have to understand, I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. When I was in the army, I was recruited for the Swiss Guard. You know that was my dream. But when I got here, I found out that it wasn’t quite what I’ve been recruited to do. Swiss Guard was my cover. My job description is technically to look out for the Vatican’s interest as a member of its intelligence service.”

Claire took a second to process that. “You’re a Vatican spy,” she stated, before slumping back into the chair. “I think I’ll take that whiskey now.”

 

 **02:02 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

She cupped the glass as Jack handed it to her, taking a large sip and letting the smooth burn relax her. She felt the warmth spread through to her fingertips and felt a little better about the bombshell Jack had just dropped on her. Her brother was a spy, and he’d kept it from her for years. Even though Jack was Claire’s elder by three years, he’d always maintained a certain naivety that made her feel like she needed to look out for him.

She wondered now if that was a shrewd mask, part of a cover he maintained to blend in.

“You okay?” Jack touched her shoulder.

Claire ignored the question, swirling the whiskey around in her glass before she glanced up. “But why does the Vatican even _have_ spies? It’s the home of the elected head of a religion, not a political government.”

“Politics exist in Roman Catholicism as much as anywhere else,” Jack replied dryly. “And the Vatican has its own interests to protect. Why not have spies?”

“So, why are you telling me this?”

Hands shoved deep into his pockets, Jack leaned against the wall. “Because I need your help. My orders are to head into Lyon and keep an eye on the situation, find out what was taken. My cover would be less than discreet, and I have no background in art or history - which is where you come in. I’d like you to come with me.”

“To _Lyon_? You can’t be serious.”

“I need your help on this. The Vatican only approved me bringing you in on this because of our family connection, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have with me than my favourite sister.”

Claire refused to bow to flattery. “And what if I don’t want to? I have obligations outside of my work, the Vatican might be able to order the Rector to let me have a week off, but they can’t order me.”

Jack sighed. “Nobody is going to make you do anything you don’t want to. The Vatican will cover any expenses from the trip and would owe you a debt. A debt that, I’ve been told, will be weighed considerably in the Vatican’s decision the next time you apply for access to the Archives.”

That stopped Claire in her tracks and her mouth closed. Access to the Vatican Archives was so heavily restricted and she’d suffered rejections twice already. She thought about that for a moment, wavering. It would be a dream come true. The strings attached weren’t so great that she could justify turning this opportunity down. Still, she was patently aware that she was being manipulated, and wasn’t happy about it.

Claire sighed, relenting. “What was stored in the facility?”

Jack mused on that for a moment. “I haven’t been given a full inventory. The Holy See guards its secrets closely. All I’ve been told is that there are some items that are irreplaceable. I won’t get a full inventory until I arrive in Lyon. What I do know is there are some priceless artworks that have long since thought to be lost to the ages. You’d get to see them with your own eyes.”

“You don’t have to keep selling it to me, Jack. I’ll come,” Claire muttered, draining the rest of her glass of whiskey and wincing at the burn. “Do you need me to sign anything? A non-disclosure or something, to protect your cover?”

For the first time, Jack looked troubled. He lowered his gaze and swept his hair out of his eyes. “No. I mean, you won’t be able to talk about it afterwards, but I vouched for you. My word is good enough.”

“So, what else aren’t you telling me?”

“My cover won’t be an issue anymore. Now someone officially knows, I’m being retired. I’ll go back to being a regular member of the Pontifical Swiss Guard for the remainder of my service, and then I’ll be honourably discharged. It’s the civilian life for me once this mission is over.” Jack tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Oh, Jack,” Claire breathed, standing up and wrapping him into a hug. She knew what this job meant to him, his faith had led him all the way to the Vatican and now his lifelong dream was over. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack clung to her tightly. “It’s okay. I made it here and I achieved my goals. Not everyone gets to say that. Besides, being a normal person again won’t be so bad. It’ll be nice to talk to Jody and Donna about work again.”

“Until they start hounding you about finding a nice girl.” Claire grinned. “When are you gonna tell them that you’re aromantic?”

Jack rolled his eyes and pushed her away lightly. “When it becomes relevant. Which it currently is not. Now, we leave as soon as you’ve packed a bag.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “But I haven’t told Kaia! I can’t just disappear for a week without saying anything to her!”

“We can’t afford the delay,” Jack told her, gently. “You can call her from Lyon and explain that you’ve been called away for a consultation, but you cannot give her specifics. Tell her you’ll explain everything when you get back, and we’ll come up with a cover story for her. I’m sorry to ask you to lie, but the only people that can know the truth about why we’re there are you and me. If you can’t accept that, you need to tell me now.”

Claire thought of Kaia, getting home from work and finding their apartment empty, about how confused and hurt she would be that Claire hadn’t told her she was leaving. She thought about lying to her girlfriend’s face and chewed her lower lip. She and Kaia had been together for fourteen months after they’d met at the Pantheon during a class trip. They’d just clicked, and they were in a good place, even starting to talk about marriage and the future.

To up and leave without a phone call would be a serious setback in their relationship. Kaia was incredibly understanding but everyone had their limits.

Claire looked up into her brother’s earnest face and her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t refuse him. He was family and he was asking for her help.

“Fine. What now?”

“Now, you pack. We leave from your apartment straight to the airport, there’ll be a flight ready for us. When we land in Lyon, we’ll meet up with a team of American scientists who’ve been assigned to help with this situation. They’ll focus their efforts on what killed the security guards, while we take an inventory to discover what, if anything, is missing.”

Claire nodded, smoothing down the front of her dress. She’d exhausted all her questions and just felt drained.

“There’s one more thing,” Jack lowered his voice, leaning in close. “There was a survivor. He’s under guard at a hospital in Lyon.”

“He witnessed the attack?”

“Everything. He was traumatised by the events, so he’s been kept heavily sedated until now, but he should be available to talk to by the time we arrive. I imagine the Americans will handle that, but we need to ensure we at least have a conversation with him. He may have some useful information.”

Claire nodded again. “What do I need to pack?”

Jack shrugged. “Whatever you’d usually pack for like a business trip is fine.”

“This isn’t a regular business trip. I can’t say I’m an expert on the sort of things to pack for a trip where you need to lie to everyone you love. You know, unlike you.”

Silence. There was a beat and Jack’s shoulders tensed. “Claire…”

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Claire sighed. “I’m still coming to terms with the fact that you kept something so huge a secret. I understand why, but–”

“You’re hurt,” Jack shrugged, easily. “You feel betrayed, and I can’t blame you for that. You might understand it but that doesn’t mean it has no effect on you. All I can say is that I would have told you if I could.”

She had no doubt he was sincere, but Claire was still struggling with her emotions, so she didn’t speak. She wasn’t ready to forgive her brother just yet. She would eventually, no doubt, but she needed a little time to process. Taking a few deep breaths, she nodded to show she was ready to leave.

As expertly as he had led them in, Jack directed them back upstairs and out of the palace, toward the Panda. He had no bag with him, but Claire had to assume he’d already packed if he’d known about the trip since that morning. It was probably in the trunk of his car.

They left the Vatican in tense silence. Claire glanced out the window as Jack looped around Vatican City, heading towards her apartment in San Giovanni. It was a fifteen-minute commute from the University, but it was a nice area and her apartment was spacious and light, with a balcony that overlooked the sights of Rome.

There was no sign of their previous tail. Claire kept her eyes fixed on the traffic behind them, but either it was just a coincidence, or whoever had been following them hadn’t waited around for them to leave. A side glance at Jack showed that his eyes were fixed on the road, but they darted to his mirrors a little more often than usual.

Claire didn’t break the silence until they were climbing the stairs to her first-floor apartment. Just the feel of home was relaxing her, the tension bleeding out of her with every step she climbed. They didn’t pass anyone in the stairwell, the only neighbours on her side of this floor were an elderly couple. She and Kaia were feeding their cat while they were on vacation in Japan.

“What time is our flight?”

“We’ll be using a private plane. It’ll take off whenever we’re ready, but we can’t delay leaving, we need to be in Lyon on time to meet up with the Americans.”

Right. Naturally, they’d be using some secret Vatican plane or something. That was just how her day was shaping up to be, filled with spies and secrets and lies. Letting herself into the apartment, Claire exhaled with relief. Kaia was still at work, and probably would be for a few hours, which meant Claire had time to pack and leave without facing her girlfriend. She felt intensely guilty at the thought, but avoidance was better than lying.

Kind of.

Claire sighed, heading straight for the bedroom and pulling her backpack out from under the bed. Opening her closet, she pulled out an armful of casual t-shirts, jeans, and cargo pants, stuffing them into the case. Her underwear went next, bras and panties and socks that she shoved down the sides without any hint of embarrassment. She’d grown up with Jack, and there’d been four women in total in that house. He’d seen a lot worse.

She disappeared into the bathroom to get her toothbrush and some essentials, finishing up with her electronics. Her laptop was still at the University, but she had her phone with her, almost depleted of battery.

Zipping up the bag, she turned to Jack. “Do I have time to change? I’d feel more comfortable in a pair of jeans.”

Jack checked his watch impatiently, but ultimately nodded. “I’ll take this down to the car.” He lingered like he wanted to say something else but decided against it in the end.

Claire spent a few moments digging out her favourite black skinny jeans from the laundry, shedding her orange sundress and stepping out of it. She stepped into the jeans, buttoning them swiftly before she picked up her bra, fastening it behind her back with a practiced ease. Pulling on a grey Henley, she paired it with the beat-up leather jacket she’d had for years. Kaia kept trying to get her to throw it away, but she refused. This jacket was one of the first things she’d bought for herself when she moved to Rome. It looked like something Alex used to wear regularly and it reminded Claire of her sister. Besides, it was still intact, if a little worn.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt harried and flushed. Even though her biker boots and leather jacket were a familiar comfort, they weren’t offering much in the way of support for an emotional rollercoaster of a day. Taking advantage of Jack’s momentary absence to collect her thoughts, she stepped through to her en suite and splashed cold water on her face. She let it cool her for just a moment before reaching for the hand towel.

Movement in the mirror caught Claire’s eye and she glanced up with a pang of irritation, expecting to see Jack. Instead, she saw a stranger, dressed all in black with a balaclava covering his face. That wasn’t what drew her attention. No, the pressing issue was the long, wooden baseball bat in his hand. Terror flooded through her as she turned, shrinking back against the sink, but otherwise unable to react. Her head screamed at her to run, to shout, but she just stood there in shock.

A beat. Claire still couldn’t bring herself to move, standing helplessly as the intruder noticed her, taking away any advantage she might have had.

He took a step forward and Claire found her voice. She screamed, loud and shrill and darted forward to slam the bathroom door, twisting the lock. Part of her hoped someone would hear the screaming, but her walls were well insulated against sound, and her only neighbours on this floor were away.

She pressed her back to the door as the hammering started and the lock began to creak. It wouldn’t hold for more than a few seconds, it wasn’t designed to. By the time Jack decided to look for her, it would be too late. Panic set in as she looked around for a makeshift weapon, finding nothing within reach. Her eyes darted around the bathroom, looking for something. Anything. A toothbrush holder. Shampoo bottles. Hairspray. All of them useless when faced with a baseball bat. Her mace was in her purse, lying in the next room.

She had no way of defending herself. Her only option was escape.

Dashing over to the window, she wrenched it open as far as it would go and looked down into the street.

Climbing out wasn’t an option. The gap was too narrow, even for Claire’s slender frame. Desperation flooded through her and a sob slipped from her lips.

“Jack!” She screamed, tears rolling uncontrollably down her face. “Jack! Help!”

A loud bang echoed from behind her and she screamed again as the whole door shook. Another blow like that would take it down. If the lock didn’t give way then the hinges wouldn’t hold. Claire climbed onto the toilet, her fight or flight instinct taking over. Covering her face and head with her arms, she kicked back against the window as hard as she could with her right foot,wincing as glass exploded around her legs. If she hadn’t been wearing her biker boots, her foot would have been shredded and she knew it.

Another few kicks cleared out most of the jagged edges, and Claire had a way down. The fifteen-foot drop looked a little daunting, but it was nothing compared to the terror of being caught by the masked intruder. The baseball bat left no room for misconceptions. He meant to do her harm. She shuffled out of the window backwards, shards of glass slicing at her legs and hands and taking her breath away. Grasping the windowsill, Claire took a deep breath and let go, just as the bathroom door burst open.

She landed with a wince, her ankles jarring against the rough stone pavement, sending shockwaves up to her knees. Crying out in pain, Claire clutched at her left ankle, glancing up to see the cold gaze of the stranger staring down at her, before he disappeared. Sobbing violently, her chest heaved as Claire hobbled out onto the main street blindly.

Strong arms grasped her shoulders and she screamed again, struggling to free herself and stumbling backwards. It took her a moment to register that the touch had been gentle and the voice that was breaking through her sobs was Jack’s, and she cried harder with relief. She resisted his insistent tugging, tremors wracking through her body. Jack scooped her up and Claire clung to him, fingers knotting into his shirt. She barely let go to allow herself to be bundled into the car.

They were gone before the intruder reached the pavement, tyres screeching as Jack sped away from the apartment. Recognising that she was safe now, Claire’s tears slowly started to dry up, her sobs lessening until she was swiping at her eyes in shame. Her hands shook at the motion, trembling just like the rest of her body as her pulse slowly returned to a regular speed. Still, there was no way to avoid the way the attack had rattled her to her core.

What the hell had Jack gotten her into?


	3. Poughkeepsie

**APRIL 23RD, 03:01 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

“What happened?” Jack demanded. They’d pulled over into the parking lot of a cafe a safe distance away from Claire’s apartment. “Are you hurt?”

Claire didn’t answer immediately, because she wasn’t sure. Up until now, adrenaline had blocked out most of the pain, but now that was swiftly wearing off. As she held her stinging hands up she could feel all the cuts decorating her palms. There would almost certainly be shards of glass embedded in the flesh, hidden in the blood smears. The front of her shirt was torn, the part unprotected by her leather jacket. Great. She stretched her legs out. Her jeans had protected her from the glass, but nothing had protected her from the drop. The throbbing in her ankle was steadily growing worse.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” Claire rasped. “And I need to wash my hands and change my shirt.”

Jack nodded towards the coffee shop. “In there.” He got out and walked around to help Claire out of the car. Each step sent shooting pains through her ankle and into her leg, but with Jack shouldering most of her weight, they made it across the street and into the coffee shop.

“ _Mi scusi_ , my sister tripped and fell but she’s refusing to go to the hospital,” Jack murmured to the barista. “May we use the bathroom?”

They were escorted hastily into the bathroom, and Jack excused himself to head back to the car. Claire waited anxiously for his return. After a moment, he came back holding both of their backpacks. He rummaged through his own first, pulling out a first aid kit that, thankfully, he kept well stocked. He picked out a small pair of sterile tweezers and unwrapped them.

“This is going to sting,” he warned her. “I need you to try and keep your hands relaxed, palm upwards. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I was in the bathroom. I’d just finished changing,” Claire paused to hiss as Jack dropped a sliver of glass into some tissue. “I saw something in the mirror and I thought it was you, but there was a man in the apartment.”

“What did he look like?” Jack asked sharply, pulling out another small shard of glass. “Describe him to me.”

Claire pondered on that for a moment. “He was tall. At least six feet. Quite well built. I didn’t see his face, he was wearing a mask. He had a baseball bat.” Her voice cracked, and Jack softened, switching to the other palm.

“Then what happened?”

“I locked the door. He started hitting it, trying to break it down. I couldn’t do anything else, I didn’t have anything to defend myself with. My mace… I didn’t have my purse. So I broke the window and jumped down.”

Jack didn’t respond, just took Claire’s wrists and made sure each palm was free of glass. Satisfied, he cleaned off the smears of blood and the cuts thoroughly with saline, before applying gauze. He switched to her ankle next, getting her to sit back against the toilet and prop her ankle up while he unlaced her boots.

“I need to call the police,” Claire broke the silence.

Jack bit his lip. “If you report this the police, they’re going to make you come back for a statement. We can’t afford the delay.”

“Jack, in a few hours Kaia will be going back to our apartment! What if the guy comes back? What if he’s still there?” She insisted, her volume rising in panic. What was wrong with him? He was willing to sacrifice Kaia’s safety simply to avoid a delay?

She felt no victory when Jack simply nodded and pressed an ice pack to her ankle. She just sat back, allowing him to numb the pain and ease any swelling.

“I’m sorry,” Jack murmured, guilt clouding his eyes. “If I’d known it would lead to this, I would have asked somebody else. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt.”

Claire glared at him. “No, Jack. Don’t do that,” she replied hotly. “This isn’t your fault. Besides, we’re obviously in agreement that this happened because we’re going to Lyon, right? You’re in just as much danger as I am. I’d rather be there to keep an eye on you. All this does is make me wonder how many times you’ve been hurt, and I never knew a thing about it.”

Jack averted his eyes completely, pulling back and setting Claire’s foot down on the floor. “You should be good to go, if you want to put your boot back on, I’ll go and smooth things over with the staff so we can leave.”

He left her in the bathroom and Claire sighed, flexing her foot cautiously. Her range of movement was a little better now that the ice had reduced the swelling, but it still hurt like hell. After that it was just a matter of time doing the healing. Hopefully, it wouldn’t affect any of their travel plans. She didn’t want to slow Jack down or stop him from doing his job. She was supposed to help, not make things harder for him. Still, something niggled at her in the back of her mind. Something didn't make sense.

This was crazy, Claire decided. The whole situation was crazy. That's why it didn't make sense. A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled her sock back up and tentatively eased her boot on. Crazy was something she could deal with. Growing up with Alex and Jack as siblings, with Donna and Jody as their parents? Crazy.

She dug through her own bag, shedding her jacket so she could change her shirt, balling up the ruined one and shoving it to the bottom. Once she looked decent, Claire re-joined Jack outside of the bathroom, where he held out a paper cup to her silently. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it looked hot and exactly what she needed at that moment. She took the cup gratefully, letting the warmth spread through her body from her fingertips, replacing chills she didn’t know had even been there until they were fading away. She tried not to let her relief show on her face, but Jack knew her too well.

“Sit for a moment,” he soothed. “I’ll go grab the car and pick you up.”

Claire took his advice and pulled out a chair, watching Jack as he left. He didn’t seem to be anywhere near as rattled as she felt. Maybe he was used to this kind of thing, or maybe he was just trained well to power through. Maybe it was because the attack hadn’t personally been aimed at him.

The cup was halfway to her lips when Claire’s hand stilled. Her attacker could have entered the apartment sixty seconds earlier and found them both there. Instead, he’d waited until Jack had left. He couldn’t have arrived when Claire was alone, or Jack would have seen him enter. Which meant he was already in the building and expecting her. He’d waited until Jack had left her alone. Which, in turn, meant she was the sole target of that particular attack. She was meant to be the only casualty.

But Jack could complete his goals without her. There were thousands of art historians in the world. She had just been the obvious choice.

Which meant something else was planned for Jack.

The drink slipped from her hand as Claire rose to her feet, hoisting the bags over her shoulders and heading for the door. She had barely taken two steps before the explosion happened.

Later, Claire would reflect on how she figured being caught in an explosion would be in slow motion like in the movies. In reality, it was a blur of high-speed reactions that she struggled to make sense of.

The world lurched and the glass windows at the front blew out from the concussive blast. Instinctively, Claire covered her face, crouching so her body was as small as possible. The people in the window seats weren’t so lucky. They slumped over, an elderly man dropping to the floor with unseeing eyes.

There was screaming, some of it coming from Claire, but she barely heard a thing, sounds muffled heavily. The deafening blast was still ringing in her ears as she stumbled over broken glass and ceramic, heading for the door. Hands grasped at her, concerned patrons trying to stop her from heading towards the source of the explosion, but she shrugged them off, her eyes fixed across the street.

She couldn’t see the source of the explosion through the thick billowing smoke. She didn’t need to. The flickering flames were proof enough to confirm what she already knew. The source was the Fiat Panda. Claire didn’t even bother with the door. The gaping holes where the windows used to be sufficed as a quick exit.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she stood in the street, choked by fumes and feeling the staggering wind trying to pull her towards the explosion. Her hearing slowly began to return, the pulsing of her heart being replaced by screams and sobs and car alarms. Claire’s exit seemed to have sparked a reaction from the rest of the customers, who were pushing and shoving their way out through the back of the store. Residents of nearby buildings were all fleeing into the streets, away from the explosion.

Claire’s legs were shaky, her ankle still unsteady as she limped into the road. “Jack!” She screamed, seeing no sign of her brother.

“ _Signora!_  You need to stay back, it’s not safe.” A man called out to her. Claire ignored him, stumbling forward until she saw the still form lying in the middle of the road.

Her hand clasped to her mouth, Claire darted forward, dropping to her knees amidst all the rubble. Jack’s eyes were closed, his lips parted, and an alarming amount of blood dripped from his forehead. She inhaled sharply, choking on the smoke that surrounded them both. It was stinging her throat and her eyes and nose, but she refused to pull back. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she used her teeth to tear off the gauze wrapping her left palm, creating a rag to wipe away some of the blood on Jack’s face. There was so much of it, it was difficult to work out where it was coming from.

Logically, she knew that head wounds bled a lot. It was something entirely different to see it first-hand.

“Jack, wake up!” She sobbed, smearing the blood across his forehead to reveal the gash there. Deep, but probably not life threatening. He had shallow cuts and contusions scattered across the skin that was visible, but there was no blood outside of the flesh wound at his hairline. Claire pressed the gauze to it, trying to stem the bleeding as her other hand clumsily felt for a pulse. It was there, strong and steady, and Claire could now see Jack’s chest rising and falling.

“Jack.” She slapped at his cheek awkwardly, trying to bring him around. “Jack. Wake up. Jack.”

His eyelids flickered and cracked open a tiny amount, but it was enough for the tears rolling down Claire’s cheeks to double their efforts with relief. “What…” he asked, drowsily. “What happened?”

Before Claire could even answer, Jack’s eyes opened fully, immediately alert. His head turned toward the smouldering remains of his vehicle, then shifted the other way to look at the destroyed storefront of the cafe and the dark shapes that littered the floor, and his eyes narrowed. In the flickering light of the flames, his eyes looked almost golden in their intensity.

“Help me up,” he grunted, struggling up to his elbows and then Claire guided him to his feet. For the first time today, Jack looked shaken, like he was re-evaluating his life choices.

Claire was reluctant to speak, but there were sirens in the distance. They couldn’t stay here. Too many questions would be asked that they couldn’t answer. “What do we do now?”

The question snapped Jack out of his reverie, and he grabbed her wrist, tugging her down an alley and sliding his own backpack back over his shoulders. “The plan hasn’t changed. We still need to get to the airport.”

“Without a car? There’s no way we’ll get a taxi on this short notice.”

“I wasn’t proposing a taxi,” Jack called over his shoulder, tugging at Claire’s arms to get her to speed up. She felt the pain jolting in her ankles, but she kept moving nonetheless. “We need to lay low for an hour or two. Then I’ve got a better idea.”

 

 **10:23 AM** **  
** **WASHINGTON D.C.**

Dean threw the door to his locker open viciously, resisting the urge to follow it up with a punch that would no doubt bruise his knuckles.

He’d been wasting time since he got back, first being decontaminated and quarantined in case of trace radiation poisoning - and this was before medical could even check out his injuries. Then he’d had to give a video debrief, followed by a meeting with Kevin Tran. It had been non-stop when all he wanted to do was get some fresh air and grab a beer. He’d only been free for about an hour and he’d spent that in the gym, trying to work through his anger in a way that wouldn’t aggravate his injuries.

Dean stepped out of his shorts, pulling on a pair of faded blue jeans and a clean black t-shirt. His arms winced as he raised them over his head. Bruised ribs were a bitch to deal with, lifting his arm any higher than shoulder height caused a twinge of pain that took his breath away. He was just grateful nothing was broken, like he’d suspected they were.

Behind him, the door swung open. Dean instinctively threw a glance over his shoulder as Sam entered. Standing comfortably over six-foot-tall, Sam looked intimidating as hell, particularly with the disapproving gaze he was throwing in Dean’s direction. Nobody looked close enough to figure out that he was just a big puppy. Dean, on the other hand, was an inch or two shorter than his younger brother, but with his long lashes, big green eyes and freckles, he was often considered less intimidating. Not for long, though.

“You look like you’re heading out. I figured we were on lockdown until after the meeting with the Director.”

“I am, and we are. Heading to Bobby’s.” Dean replied shortly.

“Did you at least get cleared by medical before you try and sneak out?” Sam scowled, opening his own locker.

Dean didn’t even feel remotely chastised by how easily Sam had guessed his plan. They knew each other well and neither of them responded well to post-op lockdown.

“Soon as I landed. I’m peachy. When did you get back from Cuba?”

“An hour ago. No radiation poisoning?”

“Limited. The suit did its job,” Dean grunted. “Skinned my palms, couple of radiation burns and bruised ribs.”

“Bruised ego?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow.

If anyone else had asked him that, Dean would have bitten their head off. As it was, he pursed his lips in anger, but responded nonetheless. “Obviously. All that time and effort finding an informant and I’ve got nothing to show for it. This guy was good, Sammy. He set a trap and I just walked right into it like a putz. He knew my freaking name. My rank. And we don’t even know who the hell he is. As soon as they let me out of quarantine, Kevin had me look through a billion pictures to see if we could figure out who this guy is, but he wasn’t in any of the databases. He’s like a ghost.”

“And the soldier?”

Dean’s fingers curled into fists and he ignored the screaming in his palms. The numbness from the salve was wearing off, but Dean barely registered it. Sam’s question implied he was well informed about Dean’s latest mission. “Pvt. Jesse Turner. He was a kid, barely out of his teens. No family to mourn him, Kevin told me. Like that makes it better.” He turned away to hide his bitterness, trying not to let the ugly thoughts of failure show on his face. He’d screwed up and a kid had died because of him.

“I’m sorry,” Sam told him gently. “Dean, it could happen to anyone.”

“But it happened to me,” Dean told him angrily. “I’ll tell you something, that asshole is gonna regret what he did. When I find him - and I will find him - he’s gonna be sorry he ever met me.”

Sam nodded, no judgement on his face. “I believe you. So, no leads at all?”

Dean leaned over with a short exhale that was the only sign of his discomfort. He powered through and pulled his boots on. “He left a necklace on my motorcycle,” he muttered. “I sent it to the lab but I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be clean. He’s taunting me. But when I put a bullet between his eyes, I’m gonna have the last laugh.”

He pulled on his jacket and slammed his locker shut when Sam didn’t reply immediately. He could feel concern and disapproval radiating from his brother, but Dean ignored him. He was allowed to be angry. Nobody would take that away from him.

“Have you heard who else is going to be at the meeting with Director Bradbury?”

“Who?” Dean latched onto the change of subject gratefully.

“Eileen Leahy.”

That caught Dean’s attention and he paused, eyes widening in surprise. “The rookie? It can’t be a mission then, they wouldn’t send her out yet. Especially not with me.”

Sam shrugged. “They might with both of us. Besides, none of us are really rookies. We all came in from some kind of military background. Benny Lafitte was a marine. Eileen was military intelligence and her IQ is higher than mine. I’m sure she can handle herself.”

That was probably true. Rumour dictated that Eileen Leahy had quite a colourful background. Of course, nobody knew exactly what was in her file. Dean doubted that Director Bradbury herself knew. Former intelligence files were heavily redacted. The rule at ARTEMIS was that mistakes of the past were left there. While a healthy level of curiosity and suspicion was encouraged, nobody pried too deeply. They all had their secrets.

Eileen was no different, except that she was the only member of ARTEMIS who’d been left with a physical repercussion of her past. She was completely deaf. Some thought she’d been too close to an explosion, others said that she was the sole survivor of an ambush and she’d deafened herself to block out the sounds of her squad being tortured and killed.

Dean knew neither rumour was true, but he didn’t care enough to find out what actually happened. Eileen had stayed out of his business so far, so he stayed out of hers.

“Yeah, you would say that,” Dean teased.

Sam scowled, cheeks tinged pink. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” Dean snorted. “Any messages for Bobby and Ellen?”

“Let Ellen know I’ll call as soon as I can and tell Bobby I said Bishop to B5.”

Dean nodded and left the room. He planned to be back in time for his meeting with Charlie, but he was in no rush. Rumours were flying that there was some big mission that had been passed down from higher than even the Director. Dean rarely paid attention to hearsay. Besides, even if there was a mission, he wouldn’t be going. His ass would be riding the pine for quite some time.

He knew he was being punished for what had happened at Pine Bluff. Not that they blamed him for the interference of the Men of Letters agent, oh no. What had happened with Rowena had long since been hushed up, but the stories never disappeared entirely.

No, Dean was quite confident that Director Bradbury was blaming herself entirely for that one.

Still, Dean knew that if he’d had a partner with him, the situation would have turned out quite differently. But he didn’t trust anyone but Sam to have his back and he had worried that waiting until Sam got back from Cuba would’ve left the volatile virus on the streets for far too long. He’d made a judgement call and it had bit him in the ass.

He’d take whatever consequences came from that, even if it meant he was benched for a while.

It meant he had time for his other responsibilities.

Dean pressed the button for the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently. The bunker that comprised the HQ of ARTEMIS was an old bomb shelter from WWII, intended to house staff from all the museums and institutes on the block above. Few still lived who were aware of its existence at the time, and the blueprints had long since been destroyed.

Now, the bomb shelter belonged to ARTEMIS. Housing all the required labs in the subterranean base would have required at least thirty times the space, and a budget higher than DARPA would give them. It was more cost-efficient and simpler to use the nearby research labs and scientific facilities of Washington, D.C. instead. The Smithsonian Institute acted as a resource and a cover, and ARTEMIS took advantage of both.

The elevator chimed and Dean stepped inside, pressing his palm to the security pad. It turned green with approval and the keypad lit up. Dean hit the button for the lobby and waited silently. The lights in the elevator changed as they swept over his body, checking for any unauthorised electronic devices. After the incident with Rowena, the security of onsite data was not taken lightly. Key cards had changed to palmprint recognition. There was no way to get into the bunker without someone already inside authorising entry.

Dean doubted even Area 51 had this kind of security.

Unfortunately, it did have its drawbacks. Upon return from his first mission, Dean himself had managed to set off a system-wide alert after bringing an unauthorised EMF meter he’d fashioned from a Walkman.

The doors opened into a reception area, lit brilliantly by the sunlight shining through the bulletproof windows. The security extended here too, with two armed guards manning the entrance and a female receptionist that knew every employee by name.

The back entrance was equally secure, hidden in a private underground parking lot that currently held Dean’s motorcycle. Normally he’d take that route, but he had a better chance of ignoring the lockdown order via the front door, for one very simple reason. Cassie Robinson.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Winchester,” the receptionist greeted, dryly. “Going somewhere?”

Dean put on his most charming smile and leaned against the edge of her desk. “Morning, Cassie. I figured I’d just get myself some lunch.”

Cassie fixed him with an unimpressed look. “You know you’re not supposed to leave the facility yet. I’m under strict orders from Director Bradbury. There’s a cafeteria on the third floor if you’re hungry. I think they’re serving your favourite turducken slammers today.”

There were two cafeterias in B1 and B2 as well, all with different menus, but Dean wasn’t interested in food. “Okay, okay, you caught me. Too smart for your own good,” Dean groaned, leaning in close. “I’ve been stuck here all day and I’m going stir crazy. I figured I’d go and see my folks. Bobby’s not doing too good since his accident.”

Cassie softened. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured, reaching up to pat Dean on the cheek clumsily, before covertly looking around the lobby. “Fine. Go on now. Just make sure you’re back for your meeting with the director or it’s gonna be my ass on the line.”

Dean clutched two hands to his heart with a sappy look on his face. “You’re a sweetheart. Brains, beauty and a big heart. Why haven’t I married you yet?”

“Who says I’d have you?” Cassie replied, cheekily. “Get out of here, Dr. Winchester, before I change my mind.”

With a flirty wink, Dean strolled to the front doors, swiping his electronic pass and pressing his thumbprint to the scanner, effectively signing himself out of the base. In the past he’d rolled his eyes at the strict security measures, but after today, after how easily his cover had been made, he would never question it again.

As soon as he exited into the street, Dean blended into the crowd of tourists. Nobody even gave him a second glance. The cover gave him security as he headed towards the parking lot that housed his means of getting home. His pride and joy, a black 1967 Chevy Impala. The only worthwhile thing he’d ever inherited from his dad.

It was a distinctive car, so Dean limited how often he drove it to work, often switching to public transport or - less often - letting Sam drive in his crappy modern car. But right now, the Impala would get Dean to where he wanted to go.

Home.

 

 **04:51 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

Cardinal Duma put down the scroll he’d been reading with a frown. This was troubling. Very troubling. It meant more trouble was to come, too. As Secretary of State to the Vatican, second-in-command only to His Holiness, he was one of the few people alive privy to the contents of the secure facility. From the surviving guard’s report, he knew exactly what had been taken.

The bones of Cain.

They were worthless, outside of the sentimental value to the Church. They had no proof that the provenance of the bones themselves was accurate. They could trace them back past the birth of Christ and then there were no records to confirm their identity. Thousands of years ago… the bones were brittle, barely more than dust at this point. The reliquary they had been stored in would have been worth a small fortune, but supposedly the thieves had left that behind.

Duma’s gaze dropped to the scroll again and he rubbed his eyes. He’d just discovered there were more bones than the ones in Lyon. He should call Jack Kline, the agent he’d sent into the field to investigate the situation. The update could only help Jack’s inquiries. Yet Duma hesitated. Jack had a civilian with him, someone who didn’t share the same loyalty to the Holy See that his agent did. Perhaps it would be better if Jack uncovered the information on his own.

“Inias!” He called out, rising to his feet. He’d asked not to be disturbed during his reading, but there was very little else that could be accomplished by more reading. Now was the time for action.

His aide burst through the doorway, hurrying up to the Cardinal and kissing his rings reverently. “You called, Your Eminence?”

“Cancel my afternoon appointments, with my apologies. Instead, please call these numbers for me, tell them to call upon me at their earliest convenience, but express that it is a matter of urgency.”

Inias hurried away and Duma settled himself back into the chair, wearily. He couldn’t dismiss the idea that this was a direct attack on the Vatican. They’d laid siege to a church, after all, and taken something worthless. Their purpose, whatever it was, remained unclear. A knock at the door pulled the old man out of his daydream and he glanced up. “Come.”

A younger man entered the room cautiously, looking around in awe. “I beg your pardon, Your Eminence. A message came through for you. A man, asking you to call him back urgently.”

Duma’s first thought was to dismiss it. Anyone of importance had access to his direct line and thus this was probably a waste of time.

“Take the number and have my aide chase it up at a later date,” Duma sighed. “Did the caller give his name?”

“No, but he claimed to be a Vatican _nuncio_.”

Duma paused. Nuncios were Vatican ambassadors abroad. He himself was familiar with the names of all Vatican nuncios, and none of them were outside of Vatican soil at the moment. In fact, the only people outside of the Vatican that had business with him were -

“What did the message say?” He asked sharply. “Verbatim, if possible.”

“He gave a phone number and asked that you call him back as soon as humanly possible. He also asked that you don’t use the phone in your office.”

Duma nodded, taking the phone number held towards him. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”

He gathered up some of the less-illuminating scrolls he’d been reading earlier, hurrying out of his office in the direction of the Archives. Father Ishim would be waiting for their return, and hopefully would have access to a telephone. A sense of dread filled Duma as his descended the stairs as quickly as his old bones allowed. It had to be Jack, and he was concerned about their telephone being compromised. What had happened?

“Ah, Your Eminence -”

“No time, Ishim,” Duma interrupted, shooting his old friend a look of apology. “I have a phone call to make, a matter of great importance to His Holiness. My aide, rather a fool, he knocked over my telephone and the line is filled with static. Could I trouble you?”

“By all means,” Ishim looked confused as he took the offered scrolls. “Is everything alright, Your Eminence? You look… perturbed.”

“I am quite well,” Duma lied. “Thank you. I trust you’ll find everything in order with the scrolls. I’ll return the rest by the end of the day.”

He waited until Ishim moved away before picking up the phone, an unsteady finger dialling the numbers. There was a long moment of dial tone, before the phone picked up.

“Jack?” He began cautiously.

“ _Your Eminence. I apologise for the cryptic message and unorthodox communication. We have a breach somewhere and I needed to take precautions_.”

“Impossible,” Cardinal Duma told him firmly. “It cannot be so.”

“ _It is_ ,” Jack replied, equally as firmly. “ _Claire was attacked in her home when she was packing for our trip. She was injured trying to escape. We stopped for medical supplies, and someone had affixed a bomb to the bottom of my car. We’re both lucky to still be alive. Need I remind you that, aside from the fifteen minutes it took me to retrieve Claire, my car hasn’t left_ Città del Vaticano _all day_?”

“I -” Duma truly felt at a loss for words. “Are you unharmed? And your sister?”

“ _Minor scrapes. Nothing that won’t heal. We’re stranded without transport, we won’t be able to get to Leonardo da Vinci Aeroporto, and I don’t feel like it’s a safe route for us now. Can you arrange the usual transport for us? Discreetly._ ”

Duma nodded absently, and then realised Jack wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Of course, my child. I’ll call you back when everything has been arranged.”

Hanging up, he turned to call out to Ishim but found the man standing only a few feet behind him. Duma jumped, startled by the closeness. The uncertainty of the situation made him paranoid. How long had Ishim been there? Had he been listening?

“Thank you for the use of your telephone,” he recovered quickly, replacing the receiver and trying to hide his sweaty palms. It was hot down here, he felt extremely clammy. “I may have need for some other scrolls later, for further research. I’ll send Inias.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.” Ishim bent to kiss the large gold ring on his hand. Duma considered it a win that he didn’t flinch. It took the rest of his remaining willpower not to flee the Archives and instead walk with his usual dignity, climbing the stairs with much less ease than he had descended with. Fatigue was catching up with him in his old age. He took a detour on the way back, slipping into an empty office and using the telephone there. It was quite easy to arrange the kind of transport he needed.

He felt slightly less paranoid as he returned to his own office. Jack and his sister would make it to their destination, and everything would go smoothly from there, he was sure of it. There couldn’t be a breach, only a few people were privy to the information of what was contained in the storage facility. For there to be a traitor at such a high level was unthinkable.

He pushed open the door to the waiting room outside office to see Inias sitting in his own chair, his back to the door as he slumped over his laptop. He pursed his lips with disapproval but said nothing. He did tend to overwork his aide and a nap wasn’t unreasonable. Feeling charitable, Duma approached Inias to shake him awake, intent on telling him to get a cup of coffee.

As soon as his hand touched Inias’ shoulder, Inias slumped to the floor, his neck at an unnatural angle, eyes dull and lifeless, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

“ _Dio mio!_ ” Duma gasped, jumping backwards. His legs gave out from under him and he sank to the floor, wheezing heavily. The shock had completely taken his breath away. Murder. Inias had been murdered in his very office. How was this possible?

One thing was certain: Jack had been right. There was a breach and it was somewhere very high up.

His breaths came in short bursts, not enough to fill his lungs and Duma tried to cling onto rational, logical thought amidst the light-headedness. _I need to calm down. Panicking will hinder my attempts to breathe._

It was only when he felt a vice-like pressure squeezing his left arm that Duma realised what was happening. He choked out a cry for help, but he knew there was nobody around to hear it. It could be hours before someone found him. By then, Duma would be dead. The heart medication he took was in his desk, through the door on the other side of the room, along with the only accessible phone. He’d never make it. He was too weak to even try.

The pain spread quickly to his chest, almost completely incapacitating him. He couldn’t expand his chest, couldn’t take in a full breath. In that moment, Cardinal Duma knew he was going to die, right here on his office floor.

He couldn’t help Jack now, or his sister. They were on their own.

He closed his eyes and felt everything slip away. _Dio, mi perdoni._

_God forgive me._

 

 **11:46 AM** **  
** **ELLICOTT CITY, MARYLAND**

“Is that you, Jo?”

Dean pulled up on the dirt road, a few yards from the back door, cutting the engine. He sighed as he adjusted his jacket, making for the kitchen.

“It’s just me, Ellen!” He called, stretching his legs. He tried to stretch his arms out too, but the wracking pain through his ribs soon put an end to that idea. Dean felt a little bad that he was just springing his arrival on Ellen and Bobby. He’d meant to call but he was still a little paranoid that Director Bradbury would track him down and drag him back. At least here she was unlikely to cause a scene.

“Well now, Dean, I almost forgot what you looked like. Come in, have a burger. I’m just about to drop some on the grill for Bobby.”

Against his will, Dean’s stomach rumbled. Ellen’s burgers were something of legend. Back when she used to run the Roadhouse in Nebraska, it was the ultimate pitstop for truckers. Truckers including her now-husband, Bobby Singer. Bobby wasn’t her first husband, but he’d become more of a father to Ellen’s daughter Jo than her real father had ever had a chance to be.

“You’re letting him eat a burger? Shouldn’t he be looking after his cholesterol at his age?”

“I may not be able to river dance anymore, but I can still give you a good whooping, boy. My cholesterol is fine.” Bobby told him gruffly, wheeling himself into the kitchen with steady hands. “Thought I’d heard you arrive. I’d recognise that engine anywhere.”

Dean puffed up proudly. The Impala was his baby, after all. She was his pride and joy. “She’s still purring, sweet as ever.”

Ellen leaned down and kissed Bobby on the cheek sweetly. “Lunch is gonna be another few minutes, honey. Why don’t you get yourself a beer?”

Bobby wheeled himself over to the fridge. “How’s Sam doing? Oh wait, I already know because Sam actually bothers to keep in touch outside of his occasional visits.” He held out a beer towards Dean.

Dean winced. He knew he wasn’t so good at the whole checking-in thing, but he did try and visit between missions whenever he could. “Sorry. Things just got hectic, you know? I’ll try and call more.”

“Nah, you won’t.” Bobby snorted. “But I’m used to it. Least I get updates from Sam. He give you a message by the way?”

“Bishop to B5,” Dean repeated dutifully, looking around for the bottle opener. “Who’s winning?”

“On top of the fridge,” Bobby nodded. “Sam, of course. Too smart, that brother of yours.”

Dean saw the silver bottle opener peeking over the edge of the fridge and he hesitated. Crap.

“Are you waiting for me to get out of the damn chair and get it myself? Because the beer might have expired by then.” Bobby folded his arms, eyes fixed on Dean. “What the hell is going on with you, boy?”

Dean scowled, reaching up gingerly to grab the bottle opener and cradling his ribs from the subsequent jolt of pain. He stifled a groan, but Bobby was no fool and Dean knew that. “It’s nothing. I got into a fight with a guy who didn’t like that I beat him at pool. He fought dirty and hit me with a bar stool. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” Bobby stared at him disbelievingly. “Idjit. I taught you better than that. I’ll be in my study, call me when lunch is done?”

He left, presumably to scrutinise the newest update to his chess board. Dean waited until he heard the study door click closed before turning to Ellen.

“How’s he really doing?”

Ellen sighed. “You know Bobby. Stubborn as a mule. If he wasn’t okay, would we even know?” She shook her head and flipped the burger. “It’s just getting the best of him. You know Rufus came around a month or so ago? Wanted to see if Bobby was up for a hunting trip, deer and the like. When he saw Bobby in a wheelchair, he all but ran out the door.”

Dean winced. “How’d Bobby take it?”

“I was picking bird-shot out of the study wall for two weeks,” Ellen replied dryly. “He can’t accept that he’ll never walk again. I keep finding him on the bedroom floor because he tries to get out of bed without using the chair.”

Guilt swam in front of Dean’s eyes. He should call more. Rufus had been by a month ago and this was the first Dean was hearing of it. Bobby and Ellen had practically raised him, been the parental figures he and Sam had truly lacked in their lives, and this was how he repaid them. By being the son that abandoned them. Sam called between missions, and Jo still lived with them, helped Ellen take care of Bobby when he needed it. When he allowed it.

It was just hard for Dean to see the man he’d come to consider his father in such a fragile condition.

Bobby losing the use of his legs was one of the hardest things any of them had ever experienced. Dean and Sam had come home together from a mission in Singapore four months ago and found Bobby lying at the bottom of the stairs, weak and barely conscious. He’d been there for hours. A medically induced coma saved his life, but nothing could save his legs.

In wake of the tragedy, Dean did what he always did when there were emotions to confront. He buried them deep and ran.

This was the first time he’d had more than few hours between missions since the accident. Even when Dean wasn’t scheduled to work, he volunteered.

Seeing the effects of his desertion filled him with contrition.

“I’ll talk to him,” Dean promised. “I can’t stay long though. I have to get back for a meeting with my boss.”

“Important meeting?” Ellen asked curiously. “I hear there are layoffs happening in DARPA. I hope it’s not related to that.”

Dean gave a wry grin. “My job’s safe, Ellen, trust me. I don’t think there’s anybody else that could do the work I do. My skill set is irreplaceable. They know it and I know it. Same goes for Sam.”

Ellen and Bobby had no idea the work Dean and Sam actually did for DARPA. They both figured Dean and Sam were just analysts, though Ellen seemed to suspect they were a little higher up the chain of command than they let on. Sometimes, Dean was sure Bobby knew the truth, but he never asked, and Dean never confirmed. They simply didn’t have the clearance to know. Dean didn’t like lying, but it was a necessary evil.

Ellen nodded, serving up two bacon cheeseburgers, handing the plates over to Dean. As Dean took them, he was struck for the first time by how tired Ellen looked. She was paler than usual, the dark circles under her eyes were clumsily hidden with makeup. Even her hair looked a little more unkempt than Dean had ever seen it.

“Nobody would blame you if you wanted a little extra help,” Dean told her gently. “Sam and I can’t be here all the time. We could get a nurse.”

“You know Bobby would never allow it,” Ellen patted Dean’s cheek clumsily, shaking her head. “We manage. Go on, take him his lunch. I have to make a couple of calls.”

Dean knew Ellen well enough to know that she’d refuse the nurse even if Bobby relented. She took their wedding vows very seriously and felt it was her duty to care for her husband. Dean admired her principles, but she could only carry on this way for so long. She wouldn’t always be strong enough to lift Bobby up if he fell or help him to the bathroom.

“I should be free to take a couple of weeks off soon,” Dean told her. “I’ll come and help for a little while and we’ll talk properly. Sam too.”

As Dean made for Bobby’s office, he could hear paper being shuffled around and smiled. No doubt Bobby was searching through famous chess strategies to see what ambush Sam was trying to lead him into. Dean knew he’d never find anything. Nobody played chess as well as Sam.

“Bobby?” He knocked.

“Yeah, the door’s unlocked, ain’t it?” Bobby grumbled. “You better be carrying food.”

Gruff in his nature, Bobby wasn’t fooling Dean. He could hear the underlying affection and pride in each word, see it in each look. Bobby was everything a father should be. He’d been the one to pin Sam’s first A+ essay on the fridge, and frame Dean’s first artwork on the wall. He’d taken them both to their first baseball game, taught them how to play catch. Showed them how to be kids.

If Dean closed his eyes, he could remember a deeper, less kind voice barking orders and a vague recollection of fear. He pushed it away as he opened the door, juggling plates with his bottle of beer.

“Yeah, yeah. Burger first, conversation second. I know the drill, Bobby.” Dean set the plates down on the cluttered desk and moved a pile of loose papers from the second chair. “Eat up.”

Dean picked up his burger, eating it in silence. It was simply a matter of approaching the subject right. Bobby wasn’t the kind of person to talk about his feelings. Dean got that. It simply wasn’t the way they were raised. Getting Bobby to open up required a certain level of finesse and manipulation that Dean wasn’t sure he possessed, not with the rage still flooding his system from the Men of Letter agent.

“So, how are you really doing?” He asked bluntly, then immediately winced. _Smooth, Dean._

Bobby glared at him. “Is that what you do at DARPA? Braid each other’s hair and talk about your feelings? Government taxes well spent.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

With a grunt, Bobby set his plate down. “I’m fine. Really. People keep thinking I’m hiding it, but the truth is… I’m okay. I have bad days, sure. When Rufus came it was tough. Up until that moment, I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. It’s why I’d never told him, because -”

Dean got it. “Because then it would be real.”

He knew it had to be hard on Bobby. Even though he’d never been the type of man to overexert himself, it was still a big lifestyle adjustment. He’d gone from hunting and fixing up cars to sitting in a wheelchair, barely even able to get in and out of the shower on his own. Bobby was a proud man, and going from the breadwinner to an invalid, with Ellen the only one bringing in money, was a huge blow to that pride. Times were getting harder. Dean and Sam helped however they could, but both Bobby and Ellen refused to take money from them.

Accepting Bobby’s answer for the truth, Dean smiled. “You’re going to make things a little easier on Ellen then? She’s looking tired.”

Bobby snorted. “No kidding. Not just from me either. Jo… well, she’s her mother’s daughter. That’ll be her now,” he added, as the sound of the kitchen door closing reverberated through the floor of the old house.

“I’ll catch her on the way out. I need to head back to the office soon.” Dean dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “Sam said he’d call soon, but he’ll probably heading out into the field again.”

“But not you.” Bobby was too good at reading between the lines.

Dean shrugged. “Probably not. I made a couple of mistakes. Didn’t fact check my information and got some bad intel. I’ll be lucky if I get to do more than staple forms together for the next month.”

He sipped his beer, taking it slow. Mixing alcohol with the kind of painkillers he’d gotten from medical wasn’t the best idea. Besides, he had to make the drive back to ARTEMIS and he’d like to do that without wrapping his car around a tree.

Bobby snorted, the look in his eyes far too knowing as his gaze flickered briefly to Dean’s ribs. “Yeah, you always were impatient. It’ll do you good for your ass to warm the bench for a while.”

“Probably,” Dean agreed. It didn’t mean he liked it though. “I should get back, anyway. I’ll call again soon, okay? I promise. I’m gonna see if I can take some time off. See if Ellen needs anything fixing up.”

“Famous last words, boy.”

Dean didn’t doubt it. He moved around the desk to give Bobby a brief hug, before stepping out of the office. When he reached the kitchen, Ellen was gone, but a younger blonde was waiting for him, arms folded. Her long hair hung straight behind her ears, shiny and shoulder-length. Ten years younger than Dean, Jo was like a little sister to him. Even though she was a far cry from the teenager he’d left behind when he joined the army, she would always be a little kid to Dean.

“Jo,” Dean greeted, setting his plate in the sink. “How are you doing? How’s college going?”

Jo shot him a look of disgust. “Really? I haven’t seen you in like four months, and that’s what you’re going with? How’s college? Do you even care?”

Dean sighed. “Of course I do. I’ve just been busy with work, that’s all.”

“Sam calls. Sam finds time to give a shit about the rest of his family. You just turn up whenever your guilt gets the better of you. Why do you bother, Dean? We cope. We manage fine without you.”

That stung, and Dean could feel his temper rapidly beginning to rise. He didn’t come here to be given a lecture by Jo of all people. He tried his best, who was she to say that it wasn’t good enough?

“That’s enough,” he told her sharply. “We all have our ways of coping. Mine involves working. I check in when I can. It has nothing to do with guilt or obligation. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I do understand. I live here, I see it every day. I help Mom get Bobby out of bed every morning. I work nights at the bar to bring in extra cash when something needs fixed or bills need paid. What the hell do you do?”

“What I can!” Dean snapped, bringing his hand down and narrowly avoiding shattering the plate. “But that’s not actually the heart of the problem for you, is it? You make out that I’m selfish for running away, but you’re just bitter that you’re still here and haven’t done the same. We both know you’re just waiting for an opportunity to pack your shit and leave, so why don’t you do it? Then we’ll see the big difference between me and you. Because I eventually come back. Can you honestly say the same?”

He fell silent, and the two of them stared at each other for a beat, letting the words sink in. Dean felt his anger dissipate, but Jo stalked out of the room with tears in her eyes before he could apologise, slamming the door behind her.

Dean briefly considered going after her, but he knew they both needed time to cool down. Either way, a short whistle from his phone drew his attention. He grabbed it quicker than he meant to, scanning the screen.

_Poughkeepsie._

The word was meaningless to anyone that might have looked over his shoulder. But to Dean, the meaning was unmistakably clear. Within a matter of seconds, he was back in his car, pulling back onto the dirt road and heading for Arlington.

An emergency meeting.

_Thank God._


	4. Mutagen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case has officially started! Who knows how this could go?

**APRIL 23RD, 05:52 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

“He’s not calling back. It’s been over an hour.”

Jack stopped his pacing by the phone booth and sighed, his shoulders slumping. Claire was right. He wasn’t sure what had stopped the Cardinal from arranging their transport, or why his handler had lost contact, but it was clear they were back to square one.

His head wound had stopped bleeding now. While Jack had impatiently waited for news from Cardinal Duma, Claire had found a pharmacy and bought some supplies, cleaning the wound and taping a sterile dressing over it. He wasn’t sure how she was remaining so calm on the outside, when inside her fear was almost crippling. He could see it in her eyes.

“I know someone that can help us,” she admitted. “It would mean sharing some information with at least one more person, though. He’ll need answers.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

“General Milligan.”

“Adam Milligan?” Jack blinked in surprise. He was familiar with the General, of course, not just because Claire consulted for him on occasion, but as someone he’d also worked with closely in his time. The Carabinieri Command for the Protection of Cultural Heritage worked together with the Vatican on recovering stolen treasures and artworks critical to preserving Italian culture.

Claire nodded. “He’s discreet and if you know him, then you’ll know he’ll help us. Besides, all we’re asking for is a ride. You can choose what else to tell him, but I need you to tell him about my apartment. It’s Kaia’s safety at risk.”

Jack nodded, absently. He could see the sense in her suggestion and it meant they’d get to the airport quicker. He was all too aware of the time they were wasting. They should be halfway to Lyon by now.

“Alright,” he relented. “I’ll make the call.”

He ducked back into the phone booth, dropping in some coins and redialling the number for the Vatican. “My name is Jack Kline,” he gave his clearance number and waited to be connected. “I need you to make a call to General Milligan of the Carabinieri T.P.C and patch me through. He won’t take a call from me from a payphone. Yes, I’ll hold.”

Jack tapped his foot impatiently as he waited. One minute. Then two. Finally, he heard a click and the call was connected.

“ _Jack_?”

“General,” Jack sighed with relief. “I need your assistance.”

“ _I’m tied up at the moment, there’s been an emergency. Can I give you a call back later?_ ”

Jack flailed, because it was only a matter of time that whoever set off that car bomb realised it had failed. They’d come looking for them and Claire would be in danger again. That was unacceptable. “Is this emergency a car bomb?” He asked desperately.

Silence. Then, “ _How did you know that_?”

“It’s my car.” Jack sighed. “Claire and I narrowly escaped being killed. We’re stranded with no vehicle and we don’t trust getting a taxi after that. Can you come to us? We’ll explain everything.”

“ _Claire is with you? Are you both unharmed_?” General Milligan demanded. “ _Where are you_?”

Jack craned his neck to see the street name. “Viale Europa.”

“ _Give me ten minutes_.” He hung up without another word, but Jack was left with relief that they were finally making progress.

The next fifteen minutes were spent in an awkward, stilted silence. It was unnerving. Jack and Claire had never run out of things to say before, but the stress of the day was too much. Neither of them wanted to relive it in words, but neither of them wanted to gloss over what had happened either. They were drained and unable to talk, staring at the floor while avoiding eye contact with each other.

When the General’s car pulled up, he slid into the front passenger seat with his bag on his lap, leaving Claire to climb into the back. He knew she’d be disgruntled by that, but he needed to be able to see exactly what was happening around them - something that was impossible from the back seat. He also wanted ready access to the contents of his backpack, should he need them.

“General,” he greeted. “I’m grateful for your assistance and for humouring me. We’ve had quite a day.”

Adam nodded, slowly. “So it appears. Suppose you tell me where I should take you and you can fill me in on the way?”

The obvious answer would be the airport, but Jack hesitated. Something wasn’t right. His car had been inside Vatican City almost all day and yet someone had managed to affix a bomb to the side of it? Add to that the unusual circumstance of Cardinal Duma not calling him back, and Jack was uneasy. He needed to appease his curiosity, needed to know what was going on for his own peace of mind.

“The Vatican. We need to go to the Vatican.”

He could feel rather than see Claire’s confusion behind him, but he spoke again quickly so she wasn’t able to interrupt. The fewer people who were aware of their mission the better, not even General Milligan was privy to their investigation at present. It would not only compromise his position but the existence of ARTEMIS and that was something he would never do.

“It has been… a long day. I’ve been authorised by the Vatican to investigate some recently discovered relics that are currently housed in France. Some artworks of the Magi, a sculpture rumoured to be Bernini,” Jack lied. “I asked Claire to accompany me for her experience in authenticating such artworks.”

Adam raised his eyebrows. “I imagine about half of that was true. No, no, I take no offence,” he waved his hand dismissively as he reached to change gear. “His Holiness guards his secrets closely and your true agenda is your own. Now tell me the rest, how you came to be mixed up with a car bomb that has my men running around screaming terrorist or _mafioso_.”

Jack ran through the rest of their afternoon from heading to Claire’s apartment and the subsequent attack, to stopping for first aid and their car exploding. He left out calling the Vatican for assistance and shaped the story to sound like they’d been dealing with their injuries and laying low, unsure of who to trust. In return, the General asked the relevant questions without prying too heavily into their mission purpose.

They weaved through the traffic, heading back to the first stop of their journey. Hours later, they’d made little progress in reaching their destination. Whoever was trying to stop them getting to Lyon was doing an excellent job.

Eventually St. Peter’s appeared in front of them in all its glory and Jack became distinctly aware of the sound of sirens echoing nearby. His heart thudded violently in his chest. What had happened? He had a sinking feeling that it had something to do with Cardinal Duma’s lack of communication.

As if sensing Jack’s unspoken urgency, General Milligan sped up, heading for St. Anne’s Gate. The closer they got to the Vatican entrance, the thicker the traffic became, until eventually they reached a standstill. From here, Jack could see the barrier of Pontifical Swiss Guard, blocking entry into the city. His expression turned grave. Something terrible must have happened for them to completely restrict entry into the Vatican.

“Go,” Adam nodded. “It’ll take forever to get through this. Better you get out of here and take care of your business. I’ll need your statements upon return. Claire, I’ll send a patrolman to check your apartment. He’ll let your partner know what happened.”

“ _Grazie_ ,” Claire breathed, reaching through the front to grasp his hand. “Thank you, General.”

He patted her hand, clumsily. “Stay safe.”

Jack slid out of the car, sparing a half-glance to make sure Claire was following as he pushed through the crowd, his laminated pass in front of him to get him through without concern. He paused to question of one of the guards, but none of them seemed to know what was happening. Only that they were told to restrict entry.

“We must see Cardinal Duma,” he breathed, relieved when they stepped aside to let him through. He grabbed Claire’s forearm to be sure they wouldn’t get separate as they speedily made their way back to the Apostolic Palace. There was a commotion outside, including an unmarked van that had a stretcher inside it. Jack craned his neck to get a better look and his face dropped when he saw the black body bag. Oh no.

His grasp on Claire tightened and he tugged her after him as he entered the Palace. Instead of heading down to his office this time, they went up. If there was a death on Vatican grounds, Cardinal Duma would be dealing with the relevant emergency personnel himself. Which meant Jack's next port of call was Inias. As the personal assistant to the Cardinal and aware of Jack's true role for the Vatican, he'd have access to any information Duma might have found in the meantime. He'd almost certainly know of any transport arranged for them.

Jack climbed the stairs, winding through the impressive corridors of the Palace, until he finally reached the Cardinal’s office. The door to the outer chamber where Inias worked was locked. It only further served to make Jack anxious. Where was Duma? He reached out to Claire and plucked a bobby pin from her hair, ignoring her yelp of protest.

“I need another one,” he held one hand out in her direction while manipulating the first bobby pin with his teeth, opening it out and contorting it.

“Don't you have a lockpicking kit?” Claire huffed, as she handed over the pin, her hair falling in her eyes without the pins to keep it in place.

Jack snorted. “Yeah, they're not exactly standard issue. Most people will open the door if I knock.”

He knelt, working both pins into the lock and keeping pressure on the doorknob. This was tricky at the best of times and he hadn't practiced in such a long time. The lock was also old. All these factors considered, it took him a minute or two to get the latch to click and the door to swing open.

Jack stepped inside and beckoned for Claire to follow.

He closed the door behind them, turning his gaze around the room. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was pretty sure he’d know it when he saw it. Nothing seemed out of place, except the absence of Inias, limiting access to the Cardinal. Jack crossed the room, peering at the paperwork spread across Inias’ desk, opening his desk drawers.

Nothing of interest there.

Jack turned his attention to the door at the other end of the room. Duma’s office. Perhaps some answers would lie behind that door.

It wasn’t locked. The second Jack’s hand encountered the doorknob, it swung open. It didn’t look any different from the last time Jack had been in there, that very morning. Everything else was still neatly in place. Biting his lip, Jack tried the drawers. All of them opened, except one.

“Oh god, I’m going to be excommunicated,” he muttered, producing the bobby pins again. He made quick work of this lock, pulling open the drawers and finding a single scroll. He recognised it from sitting on the Cardinal’s desk that very morning, and he opened it cautiously.

He immediately frowned. “I don’t read Latin,” he sighed.

Claire leaned over his shoulder, nudging him lightly out of the way. “I do.”

Jack watched for a moment as she pored over the aged scroll, taking in the information it held. She read it with her brow furrowed, struggling to decipher the tiny faded text on parchment so old it looked like it could disintegrate at any moment. When she eventually looked up, she looked confused. “It talks about the bones of Cain, how they were separated during the lifetime of Marco Polo. Some of them are now in Venice. It didn’t say where the others were.”

Jack paused from his further investigation of the drawer’s contents and slowly dragged his eyes up to Claire’s. “Does it say where in Venice they are?”

“Not in the first paragraph. I can keep reading if you think it’s important though.”

Shaking his head, Jack gestured for her to wrap it up. “We’ll take it with us. Stick it in your backpack and let’s go. We’ve wasted too much time. I’ll leave a note for the Cardinal to contact us as soon as possible. We have one more stop and then if that falls through, we’re on our own.”

Leaving his note on the desk, he led them back out of the office and let the latch click behind him. He didn’t bother to re-lock it. Instead of heading back out the front of the building, Jack took a different route, leading them once again through the labyrinthian hallways of the Apostolic Palace, exiting into the Vatican Gardens.

He could see Claire wanted to look around and any other day he would have obliged her. Now, he kept up a fast pace, following the path down towards the Vatican Heliport. The gardens were vast, but the brisk pace cut down their journey to a matter of five minutes or so. Still, despite keeping herself fit, Claire was obviously struggling to keep up. It had been a long day and the pain in her ankles was beginning to take its toll on her.

Jack slowed to a walk as the Heliport came into view and the sight of a white helicopter idling caused Jack to relax. He could see the moment the pilot spotted them and waved. Joshua had been his pilot for many a mission. He was discreet and trustworthy.

“The order was passed on to pick you up from somewhere in Rome, but I was waiting for a location from His Eminence,” Joshua called out. “I didn’t realise you were coming to me.”

Then Duma _had_ scheduled transport for them, but something had stopped him from completing the arrangements. Thoughts of the body bag plagued Jack, but he pushed them away. There was no proof that anything had happened to Cardinal Duma. He could have been called to more pressing duties with His Holiness.

He plastered a smile across his face. “Crossed wires somewhere, I’m afraid. Did His Eminence give you our destination?”

Joshua nodded. “Lyon? I’ve already cleared our flight path. This must be your sister? Honoured to meet you.”

Claire greeted him kindly, but her exhaustion was showing through her manners. Joshua softened and opened the helicopter doors, gesturing for them to climb in.

“Let’s get you all set up and we can get on the road. Buckle yourselves in tightly, store any bags you need to. It’s going to be a little loud, so you’ve got headphones here. They’ll protect your ears and you have microphones if you want to talk.”

They climbed in, and Claire took a moment to voice something that had suddenly occurred to her. “If the Vatican has its own heliport, why were we trying to get to Leonardo da Vinci airport?”

“I figured we’d be less conspicuous, and you’d be more at ease travelling via plane.”

Jack secured his headphones, reaching for Claire’s backpack and pulling out the scroll. He wanted Claire to study it en route. It was a long journey to Lyon, after all, and he wanted to be prepared for anything they could encounter there. Besides, he had some final information to share. By the time they landed, they would both have a complete picture of the situation, and they could work together to untangle the mystery of the Lyon massacre.

“Cain’s bones were stolen from the storage facility, weren’t they?”

Jack was taken aback, but when he recovered, he huffed out a laugh. He should be used to Claire surprising him by now. “Yes,” he called back over the roar of the blades whirring to life. “The survivor of the attack was one of the guards. He was able to give us a head start by providing some information. The men responsible for this knew exactly what they were looking for and where it would be. The conclusion Cardinal Duma and I drew from that was the existence of a spy within the Vatican.”

“You mean apart from you?” Claire rolled her eyes. “Yes, I get it. A spy with different interests. Do you know who?”

“I’m getting to that,” Jack hushed her. “We don’t know of anything else that was taken. There might have been more, and this could be a smokescreen. The only reason we know the bones were taken is because the solid gold reliquary they were housed it was abandoned inside the facility. They didn’t even try and take it, and it would be worth a small fortune.”

“But they took some bones that are so old, they probably can’t even be called bones at this point?”

Jack shrugged. “Apparently so. It seems likely that the bones were the target of the infiltration, though, judging by the description we got from the survivor.”

“Oh?”

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper that he passed over to Claire. “That was a symbol marked on the chest of one of the men at the Church. He was able to describe it perfectly to the sketch artist.”

He saw Claire take in the symbol and commit it to memory. It looked like a squared and inverted bass clef. “Research in the Archives yielded one result. The Demon Court.”

Claire looked up blankly. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“No reason you should have. they date back to Biblical days, but they’ve mostly been anonymous. Although rumour has it they provided support to one or more of the antipopes during the Schism. They pop up now and again in history, always in direct conflict with the Vatican. They’re still active nowadays, and even claim to have members inside the Roman Catholic Church, as well as other prominent positions of power.”

Claire looked back down at the paper and then up at Jack. “And you think this ancient cult is responsible for what happened in Lyon? To what end?”

“To reclaim the bones of their common ancestor. To claim possession of the bones of their bloodline. The father of murder himself.”

“ _Cain_? They all claim to be related to Cain?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You sound sceptical. Would it be so hard to believe that a cult would exist that had the bloodline of Cain?”

“Let’s say I buy that they could trace their genealogy that far back, all the way to the son of Adam and Eve, it’s still not possible. Humanity was wiped out in the flood. Only Noah’s family survived.”

“Including Noah’s wife Naamah, who was a descendant of Cain. She carried his blood and passed it onto her own children who in turn passed it on to theirs,” Jack shrugged. “It’s perfectly possible. Improbable, but not impossible.”

He could see Claire was reeling from the information and he gave her a few moments to process. It had been a lot to take in when he’d read through the information that morning. He could only imagine the shock it would be to Claire, who prided herself on her knowledge of history.

“Fine. So, let’s say all that’s true. This Demon Court exists and passes the bloodline on and on through time, existing mostly in secret. What happened in Lyon is not an act of secrecy. What changed?”

Jack sighed. “That’s the question we’ve been sent to answer. If I were to guess, I’d say they uncovered something powerful that is forcing them out into the open. Perhaps something to do with whatever was taken from the facility. What their end game is, we can only speculate for now. My concern is that they’re setting out the achieve a goal that could be catastrophic to humanity. Unleashing a virus that turned forty-seven intelligent human beings into nothing more than blood-thirsty animals.”

Claire winced at the imagery. “What would that even achieve? What do you think their goal could be?”

Wearily, Jack shook his head. “To bring about the apocalypse.”

 

 **02:56 PM** **  
** **WASHINGTON D.C.**

Charlie looked down at the dossier in front of her and felt a headache coming on. This mission had been graded as Priority One and everything that went with it. It meant that she had to use every resource at her disposal, including her best agents, who needed to act with the utmost discretion. All of this summed up to one point - failure was not an option. It was a matter of national security and there was no other satisfactory result. These orders came from extremely high up the chain of command. ARTEMIS was unlikely to survive a failure.

She sighed and rubbed circles at her temple, trying to relieve the acute pressure off the mission. After the catastrophe of being infiltrated by the Men of Letters the first time, the total overhaul of ARTEMIS had been extreme. It had been former ARTEMIS Director Chuck Shurley’s caveat at accepting the directorship of DARPA, that ARTEMIS remained active, undergoing a total reboot from the ground up. As the only agent who had proven her loyalty without a shred of doubt, Charlie had been promoted to Director, inheriting the position from her mentor.

This would be her first time running a mission of this calibre, and she knew the results would dictate the future of ARTEMIS. They must succeed. She wouldn’t let Chuck’s struggle to keep them going be in vain.

For the third time in the last ten minutes, she opened the report and made sure everything was in order. Security credentials confirmed, field authorisations, clearance for any equipment ARTEMIS could provide - not limited to safe houses, technology, weaponry, transport - there were dozens of forms and spreadsheets and reports and Charlie hated every second of it.

Paperwork had become her life. Her loyalty had earned her a heck of a raise and reassigned her as a glorified paper pusher. Today was the most exciting day she’d had since she’d been in the field. It allowed her to meet face-to-face with her old mentor and both discuss the ambush at Pine Bluff and strategise the upcoming mission, which she was just about to hand off to the team. If Chuck had been surprised by her choice of team leader, he hadn’t shown it. The faith he’d placed in Charlie’s decision hadn’t gone unnoticed or unappreciated. She would strive to make sure he didn’t regret it.

Next, her task was to bring the operatives up to date. Flight time was set for 4 PM. The field agents would leave as soon as they’d finished the mission brief and added any equipment they needed to their to-go packs. Time was of the essence and they were always prepared to leave on short notice.

The intercom buzzed, and Charlie closed her file, hitting the button. “Yes?”

“ _Director Bradbury, Drs. Leahy and Winchester are outside._ ”

“Send them in.”

There was a click as the lock released. Sam Winchester’s six-foot-four frame appeared first, filling the doorway, but he stepped to the side and held the door open for Eileen Leahy. She was a whole foot shorter than the stocky former-SEAL, but what she lacked in height she made up for in confidence. She moved with grace, entering the room with a brief smile towards Sam for his courtesy. Her dark brown hair was swept up into a tight ponytail with no flyaway hairs. A cream blouse was tucked into her high-waisted navy trousers and a matching navy blazer covered her arms.

“Good afternoon, Director,” Eileen greeted, softly. Her volume level was perfect and betrayed nothing about her hearing impairment. If it hadn’t been for the focus Eileen placed on Charlie’s lips after speaking to make sure she didn’t miss a response, she’d pass for someone able to hear without issue.

“Good afternoon. Please take a seat,” Charlie turned her gaze towards Sam. “Where’s Commander Winchester?”

Sam straightened, eyes flickering to the door as he responded. “Dean… Commander Winchester is on his way up. We had a family emergency and he went to take care of it. He just got back.”

Charlie hid her smile of approval. The lie was obvious to everyone in the room, but she knew Sam would cover for his brother no matter what. It was part of the reason she’d chosen to include Sam on this mission - not to mention he was the only person Dean would work with. Their familial bond made them excellent teammates and their personalities kept each other in check. Sam was studious, cautious. Dean was a tad more reckless. Together, they kept an even balance.

Then there was Eileen Leahy.

She’d stiffened somewhat since she entered the room. Her seat had been isolated on the other side of the table, so she was able to read everyone’s lips. Her eyes had darted from Charlie’s to Sam’s as each person had spoken and now her gaze had fallen to the mission dossier in front of the Director. Charlie narrowed her eyes. Eileen’s stiffness wasn’t to do with nerves. She seemed almost excited, recognising that she’d be going back into the field.

Charlie tore her eyes away. Eileen had been included in this mission due to her special skills from the intelligence field, but also because she was familiar with one of the external operatives who would be jointly overseeing the mission. Jack Kline: Swiss Guard and Vatican Intelligence Agent. The two had worked together in the past on recovering some long-lost art from a Nazi raid during WWII.

“We might as well start. Commander Winchester can catch up.” Charlie handed out the black files, laying one on front of the empty space where Dean would sit on arrival.

She watched as both agents glanced at the silver embossed logo that decorated the dossier. The word ARTEMIS, where the A was crossed with an angled arrow shaft.

“These will fill in the blanks for the op,” Charlie clarified, settling at her seat and the three screens that hung above the wall behind her desk changed from a panoramic scenic view to the same silver logo as the front of the case file. “I will be briefing you personally, instead of the usual ops manager. As of now, this is a strictly need-to-know operation.”

Eileen’s eyes sharpened with understanding. Her intelligence background gave her a deeper understanding than Sam of how serious this was. “Due to the ambush or the secrecy of the mission?”

“Both,” Charlie admitted. “Although this would have happened regardless, due to the ambush. We’re undergoing a system-wide check of our security protocols. It means information is being passed on to as few people as possible.”

“But we’re still going ahead with a mission when there’s the possibility of compromise?” Sam leaned forward, brow furrowed.

“Orders came down from above even my authority. This op is of the utmost -”

The buzz of the intercom caused Charlie to pause, and she hit the button to be heralded with the arrival of Dean Winchester.

“Send him in.”

The door clicked open and Dean stepped inside. He’d changed out of his downtime attire, now dressed suitably for a meeting with command. Like Sam, he’d forgone the completely formal route, wearing a pair of dark Levi jeans and a red button down, with black leather boots.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dean muttered, dropping into the nearest available seat. He looked a little uncertain at the audience, clearly expecting this meeting to include his reprimand.

Charlie had no intention of doling out punishment, though she didn’t tell Dean that. He would deserve it, for the way he’d handled the last twenty-four hours. He’d rushed into an op that had been a trap because he hadn’t done enough due diligence. Now, with the security breach, he was disobeying lockdown orders and weaselling his way out of the facility. Charlie was choosing to be patient because there was always a healthy level of rebellion encouraged at ARTEMIS command. These agents were the best in their fields because of their instincts. To ask them to completely deny those instincts out of the field was inconceivable.

She met Dean’s gaze unflinchingly. She knew there were issues at home for Dean and Sam. It was obvious in the amount of downtime Sam was choosing to spend outside the facility, and in the amount of missions Dean was choosing to sign up for. They were both handling their stress in different ways. In which case, how much more could Dean handle? He’d barely been out of the field in months, and his exhaustion was beginning to show in his eyes. Was he fit for this mission, let alone command of it?

Charlie turned away. This briefing would be a test in more ways than one. “Your brother explained your family emergency. Family is important, of course. Just don’t be late again.”

“No, ma’am,” Dean’s eyes lowered as Charlie gestured to the dossier in front of him. There was a tick in his jaw but other than that he showed no outward emotion. He obviously hadn’t been expected to receive another mission. Good. It meant he’d accepted his previous mistakes and would learn from them.

“We just started the briefing,” Charlie commented, tapping a button on her computer. Immediately, a Gothic cathedral appeared on the left screen. The right screen was the inside of a security storage facility, bodies strewn across the floor complete with chalk outlines and tags. Charlie watched each of her agents take in the pictures without so much as a flinch.

“The terrorist attack in Lyon?” Eileen frowned. “That’s the church, but I don’t recognise the other location.”

Charlie nodded. “The Vatican have disclosed to us that the church was decommissioned almost a decade ago and is now home to a secure storage facility for some of the most precious relics and artefacts that they own. Ten private security guards were murdered and six other members of staff.”

Sam blinked. “The Vatican shut down a church and made it a giant safety deposit box?”

Charlie continued, barely sparing Sam a glance. “Essentially, yes. This all seems to point to an elaborate robbery, but as of yet we have no idea why. The Vatican is sending two representatives to complete a full inventory, but right now the only thing that appears to have been taken is the contents of a gold reliquary.”

She hit another button on her laptop to show the pictures of the vault door and the broken reliquary that was discarded in the middle of the hallway. “The Vatican are claiming that the only contents of the shrine were the supposed bones of Cain, son of Adam and Eve.”

“They took bones but left the gold? Never mind that the bones probably aren’t even real. We’re talking six thousand years ago at a _minimum_ if we go by Bible standards. They’d be little more than dust by now,” Sam protested. “Who would do that?”

Charlie hid her smile at the impassioned response. “That remains to be seen. There was only one survivor of the massacre, a young man named Jesse Cuevas.” She pressed another button, displaying an image of a man in a hospital bed, looking pale and drawn. “American. When they found him, he couldn’t speak more than a few words. He was in shock. Since then he’s shown signs of recovery and has given a statement. They came in armed with submachine guns, their faces hidden behind masks. There was no chance of getting an ID.”

“The guards never stood a chance,” Eileen replied in disgust. “So, how does this involve ARTEMIS?”

“The cause of death is something that we can’t explain. To break into the security vault, they employed a device that both shattered the vault door and caused a reaction in the rest of the guards that ultimately led to their death.”

Dean, Sam and Eileen all looked disbelieving at this point. Nothing capable of that kind of energy transference existed, especially not something with two different effects. It was impossible.

Charlie hit another key. All three screens shifted, displaying close-up views of some of the corpses in the facility. Sam inhaled, but aside from that none of them really reacted at all. They’d all seen too much death to be horrified by the bodies in question. Faces contorted in silent agony, mouths and teeth smeared thickly with blood, chunks of flesh gouged from every visible stretch of skin. There was something completely off about the eyes, too. Even behind the haze of lifelessness, the irises were jet black, indistinguishable from the pupil.

Sam leaned forward, getting a good look at the bodies. His background in forensic science allowed him to put two and two together a little quicker than the others. “It looks like some kind of contagion.”

“Due to the unusual nature of the deaths, we ran extensive tests. What came back was… horrifying,” Charlie shuddered. “When these people died, they were no longer people. Their DNA had mutated so completely there was little more than physical likenesses to the human body. They were feral, animalistic and they tore into each other until there was nothing left to sustain them.”

Eileen paled, and Sam shook himself, as if he was trying to shrug off the shock and disgust at the torture these people must have gone through in their final moments.

“Think like any zombie movie you’ve ever seen. Dawn of the Dead. 28 Days Later. Just like that. Although, I was a big fan of Resident Evil myself,” Charlie cleared her throat and pushed away all thoughts of Milla Jovovich. “Anyway, it’s nothing like we’ve ever seen before.”

“And we’re sure this survivor is telling the truth? Not that I’m accusing him of anything, but this all sounds impossible. One unharmed survivor is either extremely suspicious or sloppy work from a group of people that have otherwise executed their mission with precision. What does he say about the device?” Dean pressed. He had yet to comment on any of the information so far, but it was obvious he had questions and thoughts.

“The authorities onsite believed him but feel free to question him yourself after you’ve had a look around the crime scene. As for the device, he likened it to the descent of an airplane. An intense pressure in his head and ears. Then everyone began to change.”

“Except him.” Dean pointed out.

“And one other,” Charlie shook her head. “The other male that didn’t change was torn apart. Jesse only survived by hiding under a table. Nobody seemed to know he was there.”

Sam, who had been staring at the pictures of the crime scene in his dossier, sat up. “Some people were affected by the device and some were not. Are there any links between the victims? Blood group, illnesses, allergies?”

“Only one. It was such a strange occurrence that it was noted by Jesse himself. The shifts the guards were required to run were long ones, and you should remember this was the night shift. The only people unaffected were the two guards who didn’t drink the coffee.”

Sam twitched, ever so slightly. “Anything else strange?”

“One of the guards, an elderly male named Frank Devereaux. He was working his last shift; he had been diagnosed with stage four liver cancer and he was preparing for the end. When his autopsy was conducted, he was barely stage two. Of course, it’s likely there was simply a medical misdiagnosis, but we can’t rule anything out at this stage.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing.

“Either way, the Vatican contacted the U.S. authorities as soon as the deaths were discovered. It was passed down the chain of command, who determined we were best equipped to investigate this situation.”

“The Vatican,” Eileen repeated, understanding dawning.

Charlie could see the exact moment she realised why she’d been selected for this mission when she was still not quite ready for field work. Her inability to hear meant she would ordinarily need more extensive training before being allowed into the field as an ARTEMIS agent, but an emergency like this required an exception. It also required smooth sailing, and a prior working relationship between both sides was a guaranteed way to ensure they worked together, rather than stepping on each other’s toes.

“The Vatican want this dealt with quickly and quietly. Nobody is to find out about the robbery’s connection to the attack. The public story is terrorism. The guards are being proclaimed as renovators who were working on restoring the decommissioned church. Your team will be working with two intelligence agents who are there to protect the Vatican’s interests. They’ll be focusing their investigation on the theft of the bones.”

“And us? What’s our end goal?” Sam spoke up.

“To track down the people responsible and recover the device they used. This kind of weapon could be catastrophic in the wrong hands. We need to know what we’re dealing with and who is calling the shots.”

Dean had been quiet for a few moments, lost in thought as his gaze flickered between the images onscreen and the autopsy report in front of him. His earlier suspicion had faded away to be replaced with an expression of calculation. “Binary poison,” he realised.

Charlie turned, catching his gaze. Their eyes matched as though a mirror reflection, green meeting green.

“What?” Eileen asked, tapping on the table. “I missed that, I wasn’t looking at you.”

“It has to be binary poison,” Dean repeated, turning so Eileen could read his lips. “There’s nothing that exists in science that can cause two different reactions like that with one event. To shatter the door and also cause a mutation in genetics? Not possible. Think of it like a gun. The device is the trigger, but the bullet still has to be loaded first.”

Sam nodded, seeing where his brother was coming from. “So what does that mean?”

“It means that the device caused the effects but only those who drank the coffee reacted. Which in turn means there must be another factor we haven’t determined yet.” Dean turned his attention to Charlie. “What was the shift pattern around the massacre?”

“Some people had just started, others were just finishing up. It was right around the shift change.” Charlie waited, watching Dean register the information and conclude what the experts in the labs had taken hours to reach. There was a reason beyond resilience that Charlie had handpicked Dean Winchester for this mission.

“The coffee must have been spiked then,” Dean leaned back in his chair. “Nothing else fits. You said it yourself, people were starting and finishing shifts. There’s no way all of them could have had any other common factors, there wasn’t time for another overlap. Something contaminated the coffee and then once this had been passed onto the victims, they were susceptible to whatever the device did. Was the coffee examined?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “What was left in the victim’s stomach was metabolised faster than it should have been due to the unknown mutagen. The leftover coffee was sent to labs across Europe.”

“And?” Dean demanded.

Any hints of fatigue were long gone, replaced by an alertness Charlie had come to expect from Dean. She was satisfied that her faith in him was not misplaced. He was still fit for duty. But the test wasn’t quite over.

“They found nothing. All tests came back the same, showing nothing but coffee granules, water, sometimes milk and sugar.”

Dean frowned. “That’s impossible.” In the face of being wrong, his voice strengthened rather than weakened, standing by his convictions. He firmly believed his assessment, and why shouldn’t he? This was his field, his area of expertise. Why should he doubt something as factual as science?

“Labs here at DARPA showed the same results.”

“Then they’re wrong too. There is no other option here. The technology needed to pull this off without an intrinsic factor doesn’t exist! It’s decades ahead of where we are now.”

Sam reached out an arm, grasping Dean’s shoulder in an attempt to ground him, to abate the beginnings of a fire behind his eyes.

Eileen looked less than impressed with Dean’s stubbornness and folded her arms. “Then there must be a third explanation.”

“There isn’t,” Dean told her, effectively shutting down further discussion. “The labs were all wrong. There is no other explanation.”

Charlie hid her smile. She had made the right choice to pick Dean as a team leader for this mission after all. Here was the very leader she had been looking for. He was confident, sharp, intelligent. Willing to listen to his equals and his subordinates but not at all willing to back down from his beliefs.

“You’re correct, of course.”

Sam and Eileen’s eyes widened at Charlie’s casual affirmation. Dean, to his credit, showed no sign of smugness, but instead leaned forward with curiosity.

“Our labs here did find something that the others could not.”

“What?”

“We weighed the liquid. Once all the components had been accounted for, there was still a quarter of the total weight left on the scales. We separated everything, removing all the known components and all that was left was a white powder. It looked a little like powdered sugar. It hadn’t even dissolved.”

“I don’t understand,” Eileen admitted. “There was something there that the labs couldn’t detect?”

Charlie nodded. “It was sitting on the scales, but the machines weren’t registering it at all.”

“ARTEMIS has the best equipment in the world. We’ve discovered things, _created_ things that the rest of the world hasn’t even dreamed of yet. How can a machine not detect something that humans can see?” Sam was reeling with shock.

Charlie understood his reaction. It was unheard of.

“Then it’s totally inert. The device must be what activates it. Did you run further tests?” Dean asked.

Charlie nodded. “We ran it through every test we could think of. We even tried it on lab rats, but it had no effect. It didn’t dissolve in water or acid. Extreme cold and heat had no effect on it, and we heated it way past regular melting points. It didn’t change at all. The only time it reacted at all was when we combined it with a specific liquid.”

She tapped another key on her laptop and brought up the very last picture in her slideshow. All three monitors showed the white powder from different angles, only it was no longer white, and it was no longer powder.

Dean stared at it, disbelievingly. “Blood.”

 

 **05:34 PM** **  
** **SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN**

Dean raised the glass to his lips and drained it in a single mouthful. The clink as it hit the tray reverberated around the cabin, drawing even the attention of Eileen. She didn’t comment but reached for her water bottle as she flipped the page of the mission dossier for the second time. Sam was just starting his third read-through.

Dean had to commend them for their thoroughness and attention to detail but made no move to reach for his own file. He’d read it cover-to-cover already, to do so again would be a waste of time. While the others had been reading, Dean had been searching for answers in the bottom of his glass of whiskey. He’d only allowed himself one glass so far, knowing he needed to maintain a clear head. Still, the uncertainty of being made the leader for this mission filled him with insecurity.

He was used to leading Sam. Eileen and two Vatican operatives was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could do it, and he especially wasn’t clued in to why he’d been picked after the disaster of Pine Bluff. Shaking his head, Dean rose to dispose of the tumbler.

“Another whiskey?” Sam raised an eyebrow without looking up from his file. Dean could read his disapproval from across the cabin and pulled a face, setting the glass down and grabbing a bottle of water instead.

“Lay off, Sammy, you know how I feel about flying.”

Turning back, Dean closed his eyes and tried to steady his nerves. As if he wasn’t keyed up enough from trying to evaluate the director’s decision, he now had to contend with a flying metal death trap. Despite the dozens of flights he’d taken over the years, he had never fully shaken that fear.

He could hear a dark voice in the back of his head, from a distant memory, telling him he was a coward, and he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t trying hard enough. His fists clenched, and Dean knew that if he’d still been holding his whiskey glass, it would have shattered. Pushing the distant memories of his biological father out of his head, Dean let the warmer, yet still gruff voice of the man he truly considered to be his father take over.

“You can do anything you set your mind to, idjit. Fake it ‘til you make it, isn’t that what the kids say? I couldn’t be prouder of you boys.”

Dean opened his eyes. That had been the day he’d gotten his acceptance letter into Johns Hopkins. He’d been so worried that he’d flunk out, that somehow the things that came naturally to him would suddenly become too hard for him to handle. In a rare moment of weakness, he’d turned to Bobby for advice, and Bobby hadn’t let him down.

Fake it ‘til you make it. Maybe the same advice could be applied here. He didn’t have to fake it at college in the end, but the advice was sound. He could lead this team. The director had chosen him for a reason.

“Alright, enough with the books now, geeks,” he tapped on the table to draw Eileen’s attention. “That means you too, Sammy. If you don’t know it by now, you’re never going to and that makes you useless.”

Sam scowled, but set the dossier down and folded his arms.

“We have about four hours before we touch down,” Dean began, calculating the physics behind their flight speed. The wonders of DARPA technology also served to significantly reduce their travel time. “We don’t know what we’re going to find in that church, but we do have to get this done quickly. We need to hit the ground running, which means all of us need to get some shut eye.”

Eileen nodded, eyes flickering to her dossier for a brief moment before she resigned herself to the knowledge that her reading time was up. “Yeah, sure.”

“But first, let’s talk. We’ve been thrown into this at the deep end and given a deadline to learn to swim. We should all be on the same page.”

Dean settled himself in a seat opposite Eileen, making sure she was able to see them both. It wasn’t as much of an inconvenience as he’d expected, working with a deaf agent. He’d expected to have to repeat himself a lot, but that wasn’t often the case. Eileen was either excellent at reading lips, or able to follow along with the occasional piece of missing information. Dean was willing to bet on the latter. It wouldn’t factor into the field, either. ARTEMIS had developed another wondrous piece of technology that would fix Eileen’s need for a line of sight to communicate.

Eileen was a mystery to him, but Dean didn’t mind that, exactly. He didn’t care about people he didn’t have to work with. He would only work with Sam when it came to being partnered up, but on a team mission he could learn to play nice. That’s what this was. Playing nice. Toeing the line to redeem his monumental screw up. Humouring the director with whatever plan she was executing by putting him in this position of power.

“So, what do we know?” He began, lamely. _Great start, Dean._

“Not much,” Sam sighed, sweeping his hair out of his face. “That the people involved are members of the ancient cult known as the Demon Court.”

Eileen interrupted. “Which isn’t saying much, either. They’ve done everything they can to stay out of the limelight, only popping up to take credit for things way after they’ve happened. They’ve never done something as brazen as this before, so there’s very little information to collect.”

Dean agreed with her assessment, his fingers drumming on the table absently. The information had been forwarded to them courtesy of their Vatican co-operatives, via ARTEMIS command while they were crossing the US coastline. Not only that, word had reached them of the attacks there. A home invasion and a car bomb. It had to be the work of the Demon Court, the same infiltrators of the secure storage facility they were all now heading to. But why?

“Alright. Let’s start at the basics of any investigation. Means, motive and opportunity.”

“They weren’t exactly lacking in opportunity. Nobody outside of the people in the facility and a few higher ups were aware that the church wasn’t being renovated for structural damage. They could have waltzed in any time and caused the same amount of damage.” Eileen reasoned.

Sam shook his head in disagreement, leaning back and crossing his arms. “They could have stormed the place during a graveyard shift. The Director told us that they struck moments after the shift swap. There were double the amount of people that there would have been if they’d waited ten minutes. Any amount of research could have told them that.”

“So, you think this was - what? A message to the Catholic Church? There’s no evidence to back that up.”

“Maybe. But it seems more like a misdirect. Who exactly is going to be looking at what was taken, when there were people attacked with the most horrifying mutagen I’ve ever laid eyes on?”

“Which brings us to motive,” Dean intervened. “Opportunity doesn’t give us much to go on, so what about motive?”

“It comes down to the same thing,” Sam shrugged. “The motive could be to embarrass the Catholic Church.”

“Or to ransom the bones,” Eileen frowned, not looking convinced by her own words. “But then why not take the reliquary? Or the dozens of artworks that the Vatican must have housed in that facility.”

“It’s reasonable to assume money isn’t a factor. So far, the only thing we know one hundred per cent has been taken is the bones. They blew the vault door to get them, which means the bones were probably the motive for the mission.” Dean mused on that for a second, before concluding. “They must be important for some reason we don’t know about yet.”

Sam murmured his agreement and Eileen nodded. “Perhaps we should leave that avenue for our counterparts in the Vatican to explore. It’s not really our area of expertise and they would have access to more resources on that subject than we would.”

Dean didn’t like that exactly, but recognised the sense in Eileen’s words. He liked to make sure things were done to his standard, with no stone unturned and no resource overlooked. When working with agents other than Sam, he lacked the confidence that things would be done properly. That doubt was furthered when the agents were from an external agency, especially one as secretive as the Vatican. How was he meant to trust them?

“Then motive is at a dead end, too. Which leaves us with the means.”

“Which brings us back to the money.” Sam fell silent, rubbing his jaw. “They didn’t need it, they already have it. Everything about this was well-financed, from the guns down to the manpower. It was executed precisely and swiftly. They got to the coffee inside a secure facility, and that alone would take a significant sum of money, to bribe someone connected with the Church.”

“So money and access to technology that’s even above DARPA level,” Eileen spoke slowly. “And the blood powder?”

Dean thought about that, from the powder that wasn’t registering on the scales that, when mixed with blood, turned into blood itself. It was like nothing any of them had ever seen. The powder, when transmuted into liquid, had completely changed the DNA of the white blood cells in the sample it had been added to. Unfortunately, whatever it was couldn’t exist outside of a host body, so little information could be drawn from the small sample they had.

What did that mean? Some sort of mutagenic weapon? Was that their goal?

“The blood powder… it’s not the only material in the world that can transmute in such a way. Water, for example, can change from a solid to a liquid to a gas depending on temperature,” Sam reminded them. “The transitional metals on the periodic table can become powder under certain circumstances. Disaggregation.”

“Meaning they stop sticking to each other, at its crudest form,” Dean murmured, thinking out loud. “But we have no way of knowing what this powder _is_. It doesn’t react with anything except blood that we know of.”

“But we do know that the disaggregated powder from metals also fails to show up on lab equipment,” Eileen commented.

“Oh,” Sam breathed.

Dean shot him an unimpressed look. Sam knew that already, but he was playing dumb.

“But this doesn’t answer the question that bugs me the most,” Eileen continued, oblivious to the exchange. “Why use this to kill the guards? They had guns, they were clearly expecting some resistance. Why use such an inhumane method of killing the guards that was bound to draw attention?  I hate to suggest it, but it could be a test sample…”

“For a mass biological weapon?” Dean twitched. The thought was sobering. The pictures of the aftermath at the facility had certainly left their impressions on the team. “Would they show their hand this early?”

Eileen mulled it over. “I think they weren’t expecting us to find the powder. They must have known about its lack of reactivity. I doubt they expected anyone like us to be called in. That was their first mistake. The second was leaving a witness alive. Jesse Cuevas.”

They all fell silent after that, each of them trying desperately to find a connection with the limited information they had. Eventually, Dean sighed and got to his feet.

“Yeah, we still have a lot to figure out. They’ve asked us to solve the impossible, but we’re not going to do that without being well rested. Get some sleep.”

Eileen closed the shades on the windows, dimming the cabin as Sam grabbed pillows and blankets, distributing them. Dean took his own pillow and sat down, making himself comfortable. He felt physically drained but didn’t expect to get much sleep. He needed his four hours and then he’d be right as rain. Sam turned down the lights and the cabin fell into the darkness and silence, only broken by the hum of the engines.

“Good night all,” Sam yawned, reclining his seat and making himself comfortable.

As the others settled, hidden under the cover of darkness, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his rosary, fingers running blindly along the beads.  It was one of the only things he had that reminded him of his father, a man he despised with every bone in his body. Dean had once considered himself a man of faith, but that was a long time ago. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to throw the rosary away. It was his only means of redemption.

Bobby was the only person who knew he’d kept it after all these years. That he always kept it on his person, no matter what. It brought him comfort, in a way.

Dean had called Bobby after the briefing, lying about a last-minute trip to excuse the fact that he and Sam would be out of touch for a few days. He thought about Jo and how they’d left things and guilt tugged at him.

He was running away again, just like she’d said.

Dean clutched the crucifix and closed his eyes.

 

 **10:44 PM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

Castle MacLeod was a magnificent sight embedded into the cliff tops, almost like a colossal stone tree sprouting from the cliffside. Three floors high, excluding the towers, and the only building for miles, it was an impressive structure. Fortified in the middle ages, it had stood well against the passage of time and was still as structurally sound as when it had been built.

It was the oldest privately-owned castle in Scotland, belonging to the MacLeod family for centuries, since they wrested it from its previous owners. The current master was one Fergus MacLeod, last current surviving heir to the MacLeod family, but that was as well kept a secret as anything else about him. Known only by his self-chosen moniker of Crowley, Fergus kept his true identity to himself and a choice few others.

He sauntered down the stone steps with purpose, an almost regal elegance in the way he walked. A step behind him was a huge black dog, loyal only to Crowley. Her breed was unclear, a perfect specimen of cross breeding until Crowley had found the most vicious dog in existence. He’d named her Juliet. He had a kennel of others, all pretty much identical, bred as champion fighting dogs. They were useful to him, until they weren’t.

Juliet was his favourite.

Crowley strode through the foyer, heading out through the heavy oak doors that served as the entrance to his home. They were always kept open while he was at home. Not quite a challenge, but almost a dare for anyone to come strolling in. The castle had a view that could see anyone coming for miles, and Crowley was anything but defenceless.

Following the path down the winding stairs that led to his castle, Crowley risked a glance behind him to make sure he was being shadowed only by Juliet. Satisfied he was not, he continued his journey. It wasn’t as though any of his staff would dare to follow him out here. They knew they’d end up being fed to the hounds if they disobeyed.

Descending the last of his steps, Crowley continued on the path to the Altar of the Demon Court. It had been a significant part of his history and his upbringing. He himself had been raised in the true way of the Demon Court. He knew the importance of his bloodline and everything it represented. The bloodline was everything. It couldn’t be sullied with just anyone. It was why Crowley had yet to bring about an heir to his worldly possessions. A perfect match must be chosen carefully.

He stepped inside the concealed stone cavern, eyes fixed on the altar. Shedding his black jacket, Crowley revealed the mark branded on his wrist. The mark of the one true Father. Cain.

“Down, Juliet,” he murmured, silkily, before approaching the altar. Throughout the centuries, the altar had seen countless sacrifices, even more conceptions of descendants of Cain. It represented both life and death. The natural order.

The sacrifices were fewer now, less fraught with ritual and more a way to dispose of threats. A pity. Crowley was never one for trite tradition, but he did enjoy a bit of entertainment every now and again.

He paused to give a half-bow in the direction of the altar and then proceeded forward. The Grand Imperator of the Demon Court awaited him, standing to the right of the altar. He was dressed all in black, a motorcycle helmet covering his face, concealing his identity. He had entered through the secret back entrance to the cavern, along with a stranger.

The reason for his concealed face now became clear. It was forbidden for anyone outside of the Court to learn of the Imperator’s identity. That was secret to all but a close few. Crowley noted with smug satisfaction that he was one of those few. He also noted that, as a further precaution, the stranger had been blindfolded.

While he couldn’t see them, Crowley knew there would be no fewer than ten strategically-placed guards standing around the cavern. The Imperator’s elite guard.

Crowley reached the Imperator and knelt. While the humiliation of this ritual burned in his throat, he knew that one day when he took up the mantle of Imperator, he would have people bowing to him and grovelling at his feet. One day.

“Stand.”

Crowley straightened up, a foot shorter than the Imperator, but still an imposing figure. A coward could not lead the Court’s military the way he could.

“The Americans are already airborne,” the Imperator spoke slowly, his voice distorted by the helmet. “Are your men ready?”

“Yes. I await your command.”

“Very good. Our allies have provided us with some assistance. Someone who is familiar with these American agents.”

Crowley scowled, but did not dare voice his opinion. He didn’t need help from an outsider with a sullied bloodline. Scum.

“A plane awaits you and your men. Details have been provided,” he waved a dismissive hand towards the altar, where a folder lay. “Failure will not be tolerated a second time, Fergus.”

Crowley’s face darkened. He’d failed to completely sweep the church in Lyon. Somehow there had been a survivor, one who had already identified their marks. The element of surprise they had was gone. Crowley knew he was on the thinnest of ice, but if he succeeded in his duty, he would be held in the highest esteem.

“I will not fail.”

The Imperator nodded, sweeping out of the room, his bodyguards following close behind him. He had his own duties to attend to. Which left Crowley clearing up the mess he’d made by not eliminating all the witnesses to the massacre in Lyon.

Which meant another trip to France.

So close to achieving the ultimate goal, thanks to a long-overlooked book in the Vatican archives…

With the Imperator gone, Crowley finally turned his attention to the stranger, sweeping his eyes up and down his body with a sneer. He was not remotely impressed. The man, while physically fit, did not deserve the privilege of licking Crowley’s boots, let alone the honour of assisting on a mission of this magnitude.

At least they were dressed accordingly, clad in a black fitted bodysuit.

The only hint of colour was the flash of silver from the chain around the man’s neck.

From the chain hung a silver twisted halo.


	5. Investigation

**APRIL 24TH, 03:44 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

Despite the rosary that he kept on his person, Dean shunned religion. Churches gave him the creeps at the best of times, the vibe of omnipotence sending him into a state of unease. This one was worse. Tall and imposing, a majestic cathedral in the middle of Lyon - yet the internal structure was different, he knew so from photographs. White walls and concrete floors, now with signs of death everywhere. It filled Dean with a sense of dread that he found hard to shake off.

As the team climbed the front steps of the church, Dean took a moment to examine the surrounding area. There wasn’t much around and the square wasn’t as well-lit as he would have expected. It only served to further remind Dean of the many advantages the assailants had when they had stormed the facility. Trees blocked the view of any residential homes that might have otherwise had a direct line of sight to the church.

The church itself was magnificent in its stature. Twin spires rose high above the city, and the arched stained glass windows were dulled and impossible to make out under cover of night, yet still majestic to behold. Dean’s attention was drawn to one window, just to the left of the entrance, that was showing signs of a light inside. Sam had obviously noticed it too.

“Looks like the Vatican’s men are here,” Sam said, pointing to the window. “I figured there’d be a checkpoint of people here. The ECDC, even. After all, this is a biological weapon, and nobody knows its level of contagion yet.”

“Maybe they cleared it out for us,” Dean shrugged. ARTEMIS HQ wouldn’t have sent them in without some modicum of privacy, after all.

They moved forward quietly, approaching the looming structure. Dean was paying close attention to their surroundings but could see very little without night vision glasses. He recognised the tactical advantage meant that they too would be hard to see, particularly in their black civilian clothes. Of course, none of them had walked into this blindly and unarmed. If they’d ever considered being so unprepared, the ambush in Pine Bluff had them all on high alert. Concealed beneath their civilian clothes was a body suit identical to the one Dean had worn in Arkansas.

Their rucksacks were heavy, both with any equipment they had the potential to need, and some tactical gear. Weapons. Dean had his preferred dual Glock G21’s, whereas Sam favoured a shotgun. While vastly different, they were equally as deadly in the hands of those who wielded them. Eileen had a Heckler and Koch P2000. Old school, but she liked the weight. Besides, she preferred to use any of the ten blades that were always concealed on her person. The gun was an added means of protection.

A shadow crossed in front of the lit window of the facility before disappearing again rapidly. Dean’s right hand drifted down to his thigh holster, ready to draw if he needed to. His fingers flexed as his eyes fixed on the doorway, and when another shadow emerged, his knuckles brushed against Eileen’s discreetly.

“Jack Kline,” she whispered in response, identifying the figure in front of them.

Dean relaxed and proceeded forward, eyes narrowing as the man came into light. He was young. Not so young that he was inexperienced, but his face had yet to reflect the weariness in his eyes.

“Captain Leahy,” Jack greeted, reaching out to embrace her. He pressed a kiss to each cheek. “I’m thrilled to see you again. If only it were under better circumstances than these.”

“It’s good to see you again, Jack,” Eileen smiled. “You know to call me Eileen by now.”

He inclined his head, leading the way into the church. Despite not having addressed Sam and Dean, it was obvious that Jack was hyper aware of their presence, particularly once they were inside and his gaze turned to each of them. There was power behind that stare and Dean recognised it instantly. He straightened, refusing to bow to it.

“Commander,” Jack inclined his head towards Dean respectfully, before his gaze turned to Sam. “Captain. This is Claire Novak.”

“Your sister, Claire?” Eileen queried, smiling widely.

Dean turned to greet the woman that had sidled up next to Jack, but then his brains caught up with the rest of the introduction. Sister? He cast his gaze over her, eyes drifting from her unruly blonde curls, down to the black boots on her feet, seeking a family resemblance but finding nothing. She was curious to behold. An anomaly, for sure. She didn’t have the same posture as the rest of them, a habit from years in the military. But, she also didn’t have the same relaxed posture as a civilian. Somewhere between, then.

As introductions commenced, Dean shook her hand regardless, his expression changing from carefully guarded to slightly more approving when he felt her firm grip. Calluses. This woman was familiar with guns.

“You both work for the Vatican?” Dean pressed. He couldn’t help it. He needed to know what kind of people he was dealing with, into whose hands he was placing his trust and the trust of his team.

“Jack does. I’ve been recruited as a contracted consultant for this mission.” Claire raised her head and stuck her chin out defiantly. “I’m primarily an art historian, so I’m here to offer any insight I can.”

Dean nodded. “How much experience do you have, exactly?”

“Enough.” Claire fixed him with a cool stare. “So, unless you think I have something to do with the attack at this fake church, maybe you could turn your attention away from me and to the reason we’re all here at this stupid hour of the morning?”

Dean held his hands up in defeat. “Just asking. Polite conversation.”

He did as she suggested though, turning his attention to his surroundings. This part of the church still looked exactly like a church, with altars, pews, a font and a pulpit. No doubt this was part of the original building, left intact in case someone stumbled in by mistake. It looked largely undisturbed, but that was to be expected. From the photographs the Director had shown them, most of the events had occurred in the facility beneath.

“Claire’s right. We should get started. We only have a few hours before the police show up and cordon off the area. There are plans to host a candlelight vigil this evening and people will be here all day, leaving flowers. The press will record it and we need to be gone before then,” Jack instructed them, leading the way down the aisle towards the vestry.

Dean nodded absently, taking note of everything that surrounded them. He’d studied the blueprints so he knew the layout. There were at least three keypad locks with individual codes between the entrance of the church and the basement floor of the facility. The door to the vestry, the door to access the stairs down to the facility and a final door just inside the facility. Three increasing levels of security. The assailants must have had the codes before starting their assault.

As soon as they entered the main facility beneath the church, Dean could sense the change in the atmosphere. Yellow numbered place cards showed the location of the bodies. There were a few in the hallway, and more as they progressed further into the facility. Dean peered into one of the offices as they passed. Two more yellow cards. He shook his head.

It was all too easy to imagine how it must have been when the first responders arrived. All the blood had been cleaned up, wiped away as if it had never happened, but Dean’s imagination was vivid. He’d seen death, he’d seen horror movies. The rich, metallic smell of spilled blood, the screams, the terror. They were all too familiar.

He suspected anything he envisioned was far less disturbing than the truth. He was almost grateful he hadn’t been there to see it first-hand. Dean’s mind drifted to Jesse, the only survivor of the incident. Poor guy. It was understandable that he’d gone into shock. How could a human brain comprehend seeing something like that?

Beside him, Sam shivered.

“This is where the survivor was found.” Jack had opened one of the doors to a room filled with yellow cards. The chalk outlines were so overlapped it was hard to see an area of floor space that hadn’t been occupied by a body. The tables and chairs had been left as they were, haphazardly strewn around the room, some overturned.

“Where did he hide?”

Jack gestured to the thick, velvet-covered table in the back corner, the only one that had looked untouched. “He’d been charging his cell phone but dropped it under the table. He crawled underneath to get it when the initial breach happened. The existence of a thick tablecloth saved his life.”

Dean took what little comfort he could from that. Not everyone had died here, their DNA torn away and warped into something primal. It meant the attackers had screwed up. Despite their precision attack, they’d made a mistake. They weren’t infallible. They would make more mistakes. They could be stopped. Whether they called themselves the Demon Court or not, they were human. Humans could be held accountable for their actions.

Dean took a last sweeping look around the room and nodded. “Show me the vault.”

The vault door looked heavy where it hung on its hinges. Unfortunately, the other side of the door was warped and cracked, making it an obstacle to the open doorway. Just on the other side of it, discarded in the shadows, lay a dull gold reliquary. Dean felt a pang of anger in his gut. This was the kind of respect the Demon Court had for history, for precious objects. The same respect they had for human life; something to be discarded when they had no use for it.

“This is where the bones were supposedly kept?”

Jack gave a curt nod. “I dusted for prints myself, but there were none. It fits with Jesse’s account that the assailants were covered from head to toe.”

Sam stepped into the vault, letting out a low whistle as he turned around. Dean couldn’t blame him. From here he could see a lost Rembrandt, a statue that looked like a Michelangelo and a solid gold crucifix that made Sam look like a Hobbit.

“Nothing else was taken?” Sam asked, curiously.

Claire shook her head. “Nothing at all. The Vatican provided us with a full inventory of what should be here, we checked everything on it. Everything genuine is still genuine. The fakes are still fakes.”

Dean grunted, not looking up from his examination of the box. “Do you have a copy of that inventory? I want to check it myself.”

“I do,” Claire replied coldly. “Everything was accounted for and nothing has been replaced. That’s my professional opinion and the only reason I’m even here. Do me the courtesy of not questioning my abilities or my efforts.”

Dean blinked. “I only said I wanted to check it myself. I didn’t say I doubted your word.”

“And I was mistakenly under the impression that this was a Vatican investigation that you’ve been sent to assist with. The inventory took me a total of three hours, and we have about half of that before we need to be out of here. If you’re going to waste your time rechecking my work at every step, then I hope your team is adept at picking up your slack.” Claire met Dean’s eyes, fire sparking behind her own. She wasn’t afraid to hold her ground against him and it showed.

Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to find a way to resolve the sudden tension between the two groups. This was why he refused to work with anyone except of Sam. People made mistakes. It wasn’t that he was calling her ability into question. Two sets of eyes were better than one.

Jack stepped forward. “We checked everything thoroughly,” he assured Dean, but his eyes drifted to Eileen, hoping she would speak up on behalf of his abilities.

But it was Sam who broke the awkward silence, looking between Dean and Claire and clearing his throat, waving awkwardly. “Hi. I asked if nothing else was taken?”

“I already said no -”

“Yeah.” Sam shrugged. “But, I was curious if there were other bones here. Anything similar to this reliquary. What they didn’t take is just as informative as what they did.”

Dean watched the change in Claire’s face as it happened, anger fading away to be replaced by calculation and thought. Not for the first time, Dean was grateful that his brother was always there to have his back. Sam had a way with people that Dean never would.

Claire closed her eyes, mentally running through the inventory in her head. “Nothing like the bones. The oldest relic in the vault is the Michelangelo statue over there.” She jerked her head to the left. “There’s a sword mounted on the wall in one of the offices, that’s twelfth century and the oldest thing in the building. No other bones.”

“So only the bones were taken,” Eileen spoke slowly. “Which brings us back to the same points as earlier. Why?”

Dean didn’t reply, turning his attention back to the gold chest and pulling on some latex gloves from his toolkit. He tapped each side of the reliquary. Solid gold. Frowning, he shone a flashlight into each corner, feeling around the sides for any hidden grooves or mechanisms, but found nothing. Just as he was about to pull back, he noted the dust over the bottom of the chest. Dust? Or blood powder?

“Eileen, pass me a test tube,” he mumbled, holding the flashlight in the corner of his mouth while he swabbed around the bottom of the box, gathering up some of the powder. He held his free hand out, glancing up when nothing was handed to it. “Eileen. Test tube.”

When she didn’t even blink, Dean snapped his fingers impatiently. Eileen looked down, blinking at him in confusion.

“He wants a test tube,” Sam caught her eye, giving her an apologetic smile.

 _Fuck_. Dean sighed, rubbing his brow. “Sorry, Eileen, I forgot.”

“Wish I could,” Eileen replied, her lips pursing as she handed the test tube to Dean a little more forcefully than was necessary. She seemed to take pity on Dean at his stricken expression and waved him off. Her meaning was clear. She wasn’t offended but resigned to the fact that her impairment was going to get in the way.

Dean lowered his eyes, awkwardly. He was really failing at this leadership thing. They’d been in the facility for all of five minutes and he’d already managed to annoy both female agents. He needed to do better. He scooped up a small amount of the powder and dropped it into the test tube, holding it out afterwards.

“What are you doing?” Claire asked, curiously, as Eileen pulled a small vial of crimson liquid from her pack.

“Adding blood. If it changes from powder to blood, then we know this is the same mutagen that the guards consumed. If it’s just dust, then we’ve hit a dead end.” Sam explained.

Eileen uncorked the vial and using an eye dropper, carefully squeezed a single drop into the test tube. Everyone held their breath as they watched the blood sink down through the powder. Before their very eyes, the contents of the test tube shifted, the powder turning red and almost melting into liquid form. Three seconds from the moment that Eileen had added the drop of blood, there was no trace of powder left in the test tube.

Instead, there were four or five drops of what was unmistakably blood.

“Wow,” Jack breathed. “So, the reliquary once contained that powder? Which turns into blood?”

Eileen was already moving on, snapping a seal onto the test tube and sliding the equipment back into her pack. She produced a pencil from behind her ear and began scrawling down the information, her handwriting precise and flawless as she recorded the results of their first test.

“ _And he said, What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground,_ ” Jack quoted, softly.

Dean looked up, but Jack shook his head and said nothing else. The quote was obvious, of course, from the book of Genesis. Yet, it seemed to hold a deeper meaning. Blood from the ground. Blood from an earthly mineral? Something began to piece itself together in Dean’s mind, but he knew he didn’t have the full picture by any means. He needed more information to make sense of it.

He stood up, dragging his attention back to the investigation at hand as he made for the door. “Okay. Sam, you stay here with Eileen and Jack. Claire and I are going to check out the cafeteria again, make sure there was nothing missed.”

If Claire was surprised at being selected to partner up with Dean, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stepped past Jack without a glance in his direction, following Dean back along the hallway to the first room they’d visited. Just like before, Dean couldn’t stop his eyes drifting around, imagining how this had been a place for the guards to unwind. Unlike the clinical decor of the hallways, this room had some home touches. A couple of personal mugs on the counter. A wall-mounted stand that was missing its television.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna take this side of the room, you take the other side of the room. One sweep to see if anything was missed, and then we switch.”

“If this is about me missing something -” Claire began hotly.

Dean cut her off. “It’s not. It’s about different experiences. We might recognise something that the other wouldn’t. It’s efficiency.” He turned to look at her. “You know, you don’t have to be so defensive all the time. You’re just making it sound like you have something to prove.”

He ignored Claire’s spluttering and set about working on his side of the room. He wasn’t expecting to find anything, as this room had already been thoroughly checked and cleaned up. Any clues missed by the initial responders would have been scrubbed away by the clean-up crew. Still, he would be remiss not to check everything.

He busied himself checking every inch of the floor and the walls. While not sure exactly what he was looking for, Dean was pretty sure he would know it when he saw it. A stray bullet, perhaps. Anything that might have been overlooked.

The door opened behind them, and Dean turned his head absently. He expected to see his brother, or maybe even Jack.

He didn’t expect to see a stranger, dressed sharply all in black, his face covered by a mask. Dean blinked and lowered his gaze to the gun being pointed at him.

For a split second, Dean didn’t react. Then all his training and instincts kicked in.

“Get down!” He yelled, diving for cover behind the nearest table, flipping it onto its side. The impact of the bullet in his back knocked all the breath out of him, but his body armour once again took the brunt of the damage. He glanced around, seeing Claire had reacted to his warning and dropped to the floor with the same speed, shifting her way towards him. She either had some serious reflexes or her instincts were strong enough that she recognised the situation for what it was.

Risking a glance at their assailant, Dean watched as his other hand came up, holding another gun, longer and with a much wider barrel. It wasn’t aimed at them. There was a sharp _pop_ and Dean watched as something black and the size of Claire’s first shot from the end of it, out of his view and right down the hall to where his brother had been standing only moments before.

“Grenade!” He bellowed at the top of his lungs, hoping that was enough of a warning for his brother. Claire reached him, and Dean grabbed her wrist, yanking her behind the table.

His heart was pounding, the stench of fear recognisable even to himself.

_Sammy._

 

 **04:06 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

Sam heard the grenade launcher and his mind recognised the sound even before Dean yelled. He grabbed Jack and Eileen by the scruffs of their neck and hauled them back into the vault, kicking the heavy door shut behind them.

The grenade forced what was left of the warped and broken door from its hinges, but the cover had done its job. Plaster and concrete crumbled around the frame and from the ceiling, but most of the blast had been contained to the hallway. Smoke rolled in from the open doorway, which Jack pointed out to a stunned Eileen. She drew her gun but didn’t move, awaiting orders.

“We need to move.” She raised her voice, recognising despite the confusion that the blast would have been deafening to Jack and Sam.

Sam nodded, conceding their disadvantage. They had no way of knowing how many people were out there, and they were like sitting ducks in the vault. He knew there was no other way out of this room. If they were forced backwards, they would be cut off from their only avenue of escape.

Sam’s mind briefly flickered to the fear in his brother’s voice, but pushed it away. Dean could take care of himself. The alternative was unthinkable.

He freed the shotgun from its straps, heading back towards the door. He stayed out of sight, pointing the barrel around the corner. A quick peek saw nothing but smoke, but he aimed in the direction the grenade had come from and pulled the trigger. Over the shouts and gunshots from the hall, Sam heard a choke of pain and then the sound of a body hitting the floor. That was the beauty of wielding a scattergun. Accuracy wasn’t necessary for it to be deadly.

Taking a deep breath, he reloaded and stepped out. The lights had been cut out, leaving a blackness that was only broken by tendrils of smoke. Sam jerked his head, signalling for Jack and Eileen to step out. They did, backing up slowly as they retreated down the hallway. They couldn’t get to Dean and Claire from here, Sam counted at least ten silhouettes between them and the cafeteria, but he couldn’t be sure. To push forward was to push into the unknown. Leaving his brother went against every instinct Sam had, but he couldn’t help them from here. The assailants were between them and the exit. The only tactical move was retreat.

A stray bullet shot out of the darkness obscuring their view of the cafeteria, clipping Eileen’s thigh. She stumbled, but recovered quickly as the bullet failed to penetrate her armour, and limped around the corner without breaking speed. It was almost impossible to see through the thick smoke, but Sam continued to reload and shoot as he backed up, covering his teammates.

Hopefully, there would be a second way out at this end of the hall.

Sam rounded the corner and noted the dead end with dismay. He blanched, heading for the only open door in sight. Jack and Eileen were waiting for him inside, and he sighed, ducking his head. It was an office, probably for a head security guard. Either way, there was no way out.

They were trapped.

He glanced over his shoulder at Eileen and Jack, his eyes shadowed with guilt. They should have pressed forward, but instead they’d retreated, both hoping for a way out and to draw any heat away from Dean and Claire. The mistake had been his, and he recognised his error. But it was too late now. They were cornered.

“I’d have made the same call,” Jack assured him, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his Glock 19. Sam was relieved that Jack was armed, although he hadn’t really expected otherwise.

Eileen knelt at the floor, peering through the keyhole.

“Here they come,” she murmured.

 

 **04:06 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

By the time she reached Dean, Claire was in full-panic mode. Her breathing was laboured, she could barely hear anything over the cacophony of explosions and gunshots. She couldn’t think straight, terror taking over any rationality she might have summoned.

A warm hand touched her cheek and she looked up to see kind but urgent eyes staring down at her. She blinked at Commander Winchester with uncertainty as she took a shaky breath. Right. She needed to focus. He couldn’t have his attention divided because of her. Not if they wanted to get out of his alive. Her hearing was returning slowly, which helped bring her back to the present.

The gunfire from the hallway ceased, and that alone almost sent Claire spiralling again. She needed to get to Jack, to see if he was okay. Her hand twitched, as if holding a weapon she no longer owned. She hadn’t fired a gun since she’d left the United States. Italy’s laws were much stricter than home.

“Make for the back table,” Dean whispered. “The one where the guard hid. From there it’s the straightest route to the door. We get out the way we came in. When I move, so do you.”

They couldn’t stay where they were. A well-aimed grenade and they’d both be blown to pieces. Even Claire recognised this, without any tactical training. Dean was right, they had to start thinking of an escape route. She deferred to his judgement and followed her orders.

Claire crawled along the floor, taking cover behind any available tables and chairs she passed, getting into position. She was re-evaluating her original position on Commander Winchester. What had come across as arrogance and distrust had been replaced by concern and confidence. He was a true leader. Even so, she wasn’t oblivious to the fear in his eyes. Truth be told, it only appeased her own terror. She’d be worried if he wasn’t scared when facing down the possibility of death.

The gunfire from the door had ceased, but Claire didn’t look up. Best case scenario was that the gunman had retreated, leaving her an open path to the exit. Worst case was that he was waiting for her to pop her head up. She was no fool.

She locked eyes with the Commander and nodded to show she was in position. Moving up onto her elbows, she was still hidden behind the table, but was ready to move.

“Go!” Dean yelled, drawing his dual handguns.

She leapt to her feet, not sticking around to see what the Commander was doing. Her focus was getting out of this room and making her way upstairs. Gunfire erupted from both behind her and the doorway, but none of it was aimed at her. It was significantly louder now. Dean’s guns didn’t have silencers. The gunman started to swing her way, and Claire could see the black handgun turning in her direction, but it was too late. She barrelled into him at top speed and forced them both through the doorway.

Claire had been expecting the impact. The advantage was hers. With that in mind she stepped back and spun, swinging her leg up in the air. In the most perfect execution of a roundhouse kick she had ever managed, she sent the gun clattering to the floor. It left her opponent open, defenceless and she used the opportunity that presented her with. Claire swung her fist and punched him in the throat, feeling the cartilage of his Adam’s apple contract against her knuckles and a grim sense of satisfaction as he crumpled to the floor.

“Move,” Dean snapped from behind her, covering her as they weaved around the corner and up the stairs. She could hear gunshots from behind them and heard Dean grunt a few times, but it still took a few seconds for her brain to catch up. Dean was taking the bullets for her, knowing he had body armour and she did not. He returned fire, shooting back over his shoulder with surprising accuracy.

“What about the others?” She panted, the sudden exertion starting to creep up on her. Her ankles were throbbing with each step and she knew she wasn’t running as fast as she normally could. She was slowing them down and it was frustrating her.

Dean grunted. “Haul ass. They won’t want anyone to escape, so they’ll come for us first.”

Claire fled through the vestry, a wave of confidence spurring her on. They were so close, just the length of the aisle from the doorway of this room to the main church doors and they were home free. Their assailants would surely hesitate to fire upon them once they were outside. It was too public, too much risk of attention. She passed through the doorway and her heart skipped a beat. They were going to escape, they were -

A robed arm struck her in the centre of the chest from the side of the doorway and she fell backwards, the breath knocked out of her. Landing on the concrete floor, Claire could see little more than stars before she was yanked upright. Her feet were barely touching the floor, toes scrabbling for purchase as she was lifted into the air.

She blinked, and her vision swam and then slowly cleared.

She was being held aloft by a relatively short man, only a few inches taller than her. He was dressed sharply in a black suit, a blood red shirt the only splash of colour to his outfit. His eyes seemed to have almost a red tint to them as she squinted down at him, her chest rising and falling as she attempted to bring much-needed oxygen back into her lungs.

Slowly, she was lowered to the floor, and as she looked around wildly for the Commander, she felt a cold, unmistakable touch of metal to her lower back. She froze.

“Don’t move. There’s a good girl.” The man spoke, all British and equally as smug. Claire felt the sting of anger and failure. “Drop your weapon, Commander Winchester.”

“Sound advice. I’d probably listen to him, if I were you.” A new voice spoke, coming from the shadows.

Claire craned her neck to see the new arrival as he stepped into view. He was taller than the first man, dressed in a black suit of his own, but with a white shirt and red tie. His hair was dark brown, dishevelled and stuck up at all angles, but he showed no signs of being flustered as he pulled out his own Sig Sauer. Cold blue eyes glinted with recognition and amusement as the barrel pointed at Dean’s face.

“ _Déjà vu_ , Commander?”

 

 **04:08 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

A single grenade was all it would take to force the door open. Blocking it with their bodies wasn’t an option. It wasn’t a strong door, it didn’t even have a lock, and stray bullets were already punching through the wood at the weakest points. The only thing keeping it closed was Sam’s boot heel, anchoring the bottom corner while he kept his body firmly pressed to the wall.

“Guys, you’re gonna need to hurry it up back there,” he called, wincing as another bullet forced its way through the door, only missing Jack’s shoulder by a couple of inches.

Pressing his shotgun to one of the bullet holes, Sam fired, hearing a cry of pain from outside. His gun was the only thing stopping the attackers from busting in and killing all of them. While he didn’t know how many there were outside, Sam knew they were grossly outnumbered.

The door was the only thing between them and death.

Rescue wasn’t an option. It would be hours before anyone got here, and they were beneath the church, in the secure facility. Nobody would think to check on them until they failed to check in with ARTEMIS. Help from Dean and Claire was unlikely. Sam had heard Dean’s gun fire a few times and then stop. Nothing more since then. Grief was threatening to tug him into a dangerous place, but he refused to succumb. Not when he didn’t know for sure. Not when people were counting on him.

Dean always had a plan. He’d get out of this.

The door rattled again, and Sam’s face screwed up at the effort it took to keep it closed. His leg ached from the awkward position, his knee beginning to tremble. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Another thirty seconds at the most. If Jack and Eileen were gonna execute their plan, it needed to be now.

“Guys, it’s not gonna make a difference in twenty seconds.”

“On three,” Eileen spoke up, but Sam couldn’t spare her a glance, already reloading. “One, two, _three_.”

She and Jack heaved with all their might, pulling backwards away from the wall. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but they didn’t let up, just continued to pull. Then there was an ear-splitting crash and the iron bracket separated from the wall, yanking out a good portion of the plaster and brickwork with it. Dust clouded the air, but they had what they needed. Triumphantly, Eileen held aloft the twelfth-century sword that had been mounted on the wall. It was garish in all its jewelled glory, but the blade was pure polished steel.

Sam could only begin to guess how much it weighed, and yet Eileen was holding it like it was no more than a pen. Her hair, which had looked immaculate at their meeting with the director, now fell around her shoulders and she looked like a warrior, a Valkyrie, particularly while she was wielding the longsword. Sam could only blink at her.

With a grunt of effort, Eileen wheeled around and stabbed the blade between the door and the frame. It worked as good as any lock, effectively wedging the door closed.

Sam pulled his leg back with a quiet groan, stretching out his knee. “Perfect.” That had bought them an extra few minutes. He shoved his shotgun back to the same hole as before and fired, more out of anger than actually hoping to hit someone. They’d have moved back after the last casualty, probably out of range.

He pulled back and risked a fast glance through the keyhole. After only a second, he recoiled, seeing a smooth, black object, patterned like a pineapple bounce to a halt outside the door. Reacting on instinct, his body dropped to the floor, pressing flat against the concrete.

“Down!”

 

 **05:08 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

At the sound and distant tremor of the explosion below, everyone turned to the stairwell. Everyone except Dean. He couldn’t allow himself to look away for a moment, meeting Halo’s gaze with every ounce of hated he could muster. If this was the end, he’d be looking this son of a bitch in the eyes as the trigger was pulled. He’d die with honour and dignity.

“Well, well, well,” the British man smirked. “It seems like your colleagues are all taken care of -”

Dean wasn’t sure what made Claire react. Perhaps her captor had loosened his grip, perhaps he’d underestimated her. Maybe the thought that her brother might be dead had spurred her on. Either way, Dean heard the impact as her head whipped back and she headbutted Not-Halo’s nose as hard as she could. Her skull smashed into the bridge of his nose, but Claire didn’t stop there.

She twisted and freed herself from his grasp, whirling around and planting her boot firmly into her captor’s crotch. Dean couldn’t stop his own sympathetic wince as Not-Halo dropped to the floor, gun clattering to the side uselessly.

Dean raised his own pistol, but the Men of Letters operative was quicker, flicking off the safety and pressing the gun to the tender spot between his eyes.

“Run,” Dean hissed to Claire, keeping his eyes fixed on the blue-eyed bastard that he wanted nothing more than to empty his own magazine into. They had unfinished business, the Pine Bluff mission still fresh in his mind and as raw as ever.

Halo met his gaze unflinchingly and did something Dean didn’t expect. His eyes flickered to the British man on the floor and his mouth twitched, as if repressing a smirk. Turning back, Halo quickly flicked his gun away from Dean’s face, nodding towards the exit sharply. The meaning was unmistakable.

He was letting them go.

Dean took a single step backwards, suspicious and uncertain. Halo didn’t react at the movement, but he kept the gun trained on Dean in case he tried to do anything other than leave.

Dean’s gaze stayed fixed on him for only a split-second longer, before he grabbed Claire by the wrist and raced towards the exit. Against every fibre of his being, his brain screaming at him not to turn his back on his enemy, he did exactly that. As they approached the door, Dean both felt and heard the bullet whizz past him and embed itself in a stone pillar. He glanced over his shoulder, head whipping back to see if this had all been a trick to get them to run, to make it look less like an execution.

Halo’s gun still pointed towards them, recently fired. Blood was dripping from a cut above his eyebrow, a wound that hadn’t been there moments before. Self-inflicted, to cover the deception. A small smirk was tugging at his lips. He had missed on purpose.

There was nobody between them and the doors, but it was likely there’d be guards posted outside, to stop anyone from escaping. Hopefully not too many, Dean wasn’t sure how many bullets he had left in his gun, and his spare magazines were in his pack. He hadn’t expected this to turn into an ambush and he cursed himself for making the same mistake twice. He should have learnt his lesson from Pine Bluff.

They pushed through the inner oak doors and stopped at the sound of a second grenade going off. Claire buried her head in her hands and sank against the wall, her strength waning in her grief. Dean kept his mind carefully blank. He’d lost countless teammates in the past. It happened. He’d been trained to push it aside and get the job done. He could mourn later.

But this was Sammy. It was Jack. To both he and Claire, this was family, and they might both have lost their brother.

“We’re almost there,” Dean told her quietly, his hand touching her shoulder in a gesture of sorrow. He wished he could offer her more support than this, but he couldn’t. He feared how he would react if he even contemplated the possibility of Sam not making it out of this.

Claire nodded, sniffing. She straightened, seeming to draw strength from the moment of contact and humanity Dean had showed. He’d taken a risk, knowing some people couldn’t handle sympathy in moments like this. They needed strength and orders, drawing their own strength from their duty. Dean had gambled that Claire wasn’t built that way. He’d been right.

He took her wrist again and together they ran, throwing themselves at the solid oak outer doors of the cathedral. The element of surprise was with them and Dean raised his Glock swiftly at one of the two men who were standing guard, pulling the trigger.

_Click!_

The slide locked open. Empty.

Dean cursed and dropped his grasp on Claire, retreating through the doors and yanking them closed. The guards had been so surprised, they hadn’t immediately reacted. Dean knew that was the only reason he and Claire were still breathing. He ducked instinctively as the guard’s recovered from their shock and the sound of bullets struck the heavy doors. He was relieved that none of them were penetrating the solid oak.

He whirled around, heading through the only other accessible door, pushing Claire ahead of him. The second his feet met the spiral stairs he knew he’d just made a mistake. They were climbing one of the spires and there would be no way down once they reached the top.

They ran, winding around and around as they climbed their way to the top. Only a few seconds later, the door at the bottom crashed open behind them and the sound of footsteps echoed in their wake.

“Get the bloody bastards, will you? Don’t let them escape.”

It was the British man, barking orders at his men.

Thanks to the angle of the staircase, they were free from bullets. Even without the physics degree, Dean knew bullets didn’t round corners.

The spiral staircase was quickly taking its toll on Dean and Claire, the effort to climb draining their energy much quicker than if they’d been running on level ground. Especially with the adrenaline of the chase catching up with them and tiring them out. The passageway narrowed as they neared the top, tall windows giving glimpses of their ascending height each time they curved back around the stairs. No room to squeeze through, Dean noted. He doubted he’d get anything wider than his arm through, they were so narrow.

It felt like a lifetime before they reached the top of the spire, and the first of the assailants was only a few steps behind them. Exhausted, Dean didn’t even have time to reload, he just reached out to snatch the two-handed weapon from their pursuer, planting his foot in his chest and kicking him back down the stairs, temporarily stopping anyone behind him from getting past.

“It’s an observation deck,” Claire blinked, as they ducked outside. There was no doorway to hide from their assailants, so Claire reached out and took the weapon from Dean silently. She kept it trained on the doorway while Dean recovered his spare magazines and looked for any method of escape. The view was beautiful, if he’d had more time to appreciate it. But a view wasn’t helpful right now. He needed a way down. There was none.

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he looked up, calculating.

A shout drew his attention and the sound of gunshots erupted from the stairwell. Claire stepped back into the doorway, weapon raised. They were coming.

 

 **04:12 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

Underneath the cathedral, looking at the smouldering remains of the doorway in satisfaction, Brady cocked his weapon. He’d sent the rest of his team upstairs after Crowley had screamed through the radio that two of their targets were escaping. Only he and Kip had stayed below to take care of the others.

The tall one with the shotgun, that had killed two of his men. He would die slowly, painfully. Brady would take care of that himself. They’d been waiting for most of the thick smoke from the grenade to clear before they went in, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Stay here. Enter on my signal.”

Brady stepped onto the splintered remains of the door carefully, his gun raised and leading the way. If anything so much as twitched, he’d empty his magazine into it. As he took his second step into the room, he narrowed his eyes. There were two bodies lying on the floor, just inside the doorway, but no sign of the third. He took another hesitant step, and something struck his arm. He backed up, shaken as he looked down at the stump where his hand used to be, spurting blood all over the floor.

Brady felt no pain, only confusion. His brain felt foggy and he swayed, a little woozy as blood continued to seep from the wound, a dark patch spreading even across his black armour. Where had his hand gone?

Brady turned, looking at the direction the blow had come from, just in time to see a jewelled sword swinging through the air. His jaw slack, he could do nothing more than stare. Brady didn’t have any time to contemplate what surely had to be a hallucination. His head was severed from his neck before the surprise had a chance to fade from his features. He felt nothing but numbness as his body pitched forward.

He was dead long before his corpse hit the floor.

 

 **04:13 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

Eileen lowered the sword and kicked the leg next to her. Sam twisted his face and stretched out the limb as he got up from the floor. His eyes widened in shock as he looked from the bloody sword to the severed head staring lifelessly up at them. He blinked at Eileen and she saw the unguarded respect there. From any teammate other than one of the Winchester brothers, she wouldn’t have cared.

Now she felt the weight fall from her shoulders. She’d impressed Sam, which was as good as acceptance from Dean. She would no longer be regarded with suspicion, as dead weight. She’d proven her own capabilities.

It had been her idea. When Sam had dropped to the floor, her mouth had found his ear. She’d told him to stay down and play dead. Even without knowing her plan, Sam had agreed, passing on the message to Jack. After the blast, she’d taken up position on one side of the door, waiting for the first assassin to approach. She hadn’t wanted to alert the others that must be amassing outside, so she’d kept her gun sheathed. Instead, she’d retrieved the jewelled longsword that had clattered to the floor along with the remnants of the door.

Behind her, Sam and Jack were frisking the body, after dragging it away from the doorway. They didn’t want to alert the others of the ambush. They’d heard the soldier tell the others to wait, and the smoke would have blocked any view of the longsword. She looked back when she caught the sight of Sam waving out of the corner of her eye, and he tossed a black object at her.

Eileen grinned at the sight of the sleek black M2 grenade in her hands. These grenades had caused them nothing but trouble since they arrived.

Now she was armed with one, and it was time to return the favour.

She lowered the sword to the floor quietly. She didn’t need to be overzealous with her aim. Anyone within fifteen feet of the explosion was toast. Anyone without cover within fifty feet was likely to find themselves missing a few limbs. Eileen hooked her finger in and wrenched the pin out, counting two seconds and then tossing it casually out into the hallway and around the corner.

The door wouldn’t save them this time, not from its position on the floor. But she’d accounted for that. They all dove for cover behind the desk, flipping it onto its side. The explosion was overwhelming to say the least, the concussive wave sending her face crashing into the floor. It took her longer to recover from the blast than she’d expected, and when she sat up, she found Sam and Jack were already standing. Sam was back at the doorway, making sure the halls were clear, while Jack held out a hand to help Eileen to her feet.

She accepted the assistance, shakily, angry at how unsteady her legs were as she rose. This was her first foray into fieldwork with ARTEMIS, but it was by no means her first time in the field. She was used to high-stress situations and she needed to get herself under control. She did so, walking calmly towards the door once Sam signalled that it was all clear.

The hallway was like something from a horror movie. Blood and other bodily fluids decorated the walls and ceiling, a mixture of body parts and destroyed armour spread across the floor. Eileen’s eyes zeroed in on a boot that was still attached to a leg, cut off at the knee and she felt nothing but satisfaction. They picked the wrong team to ambush. She tried to find a path towards the exit, as the concrete floor was now jagged and uneven with huge holes blown into it, leaving a hefty drop into the foundations.

“We should go,” Eileen mumbled.

They edged out into the hallway, taking a wide step over the crater just on the other side of the doorway. The floor was crumbling dangerously. The safest route seemed to be to stay against the wall and edge their way along. Once they rounded the corner and passed the vault, they’d be on stable ground again.

Jack went first, one foot in front of the other as if he was walking the tightrope. His steps were careful, precise, finding purchase wherever he could lay his foot flat. Reaching the end of the hall, he pressed his left hand flat against the wall, his fingers splayed out to brace himself. Eileen watched as he peeked around the corner and then stepped out.

Eileen hesitated, looking down into the blackness. It was at least thirty feet down into the amassed rubble at the bottom. If she fell it probably wouldn’t kill her, but she was willing to bet it would hurt a lot. Her chest tightened as fear set in and she struggled to push through it. Her hesitation didn’t escape Sam’s notice, who stepped forward, his hand ghosting over her shoulder but not actually touching. She glanced up at him.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he told her. “I won’t let you fall.”

Even though Sam hadn’t explicitly commented on her hesitation, her cheeks burned at being so transparent. Unable to delay any longer, Eileen gave him a curt nod and stepped forward. She followed Jack’s lead, one foot in front of the other. Her breathing was laboured as if she was running a marathon, but she couldn’t stop it. Heights really weren’t her favourite thing. She could overcome her wariness of them in the name of duty, but she much preferred to be on solid ground.

About four feet from the end, the floor crumbled beneath her feet and gave way. Eileen sucked in a breath of air, about to scream, when strong arms slid around her waist and caught her firmly. Lifted into the air, she was carried for the last steps across the gap. Her arms encircled Sam’s broad shoulders, clinging tightly as her pulse raced. When her vice-like grip loosened, Sam set her down gently, but didn’t let go.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Eileen nodded gratefully, meeting his gaze. “Thank you.”

“I said I wouldn’t let you fall.” Sam let his hands slip away from her waist and offered her a crooked smile, which she returned.

The absence of his arms around her left her feeling cold, and Eileen found herself missing the absence of heat and comfort they’d brought, however fleeting. Clearing her throat, she shook herself mentally for her unprofessionalism. She didn’t need to be held, or comforted. Her emotions were all out of whack with the adrenaline and fear. She needed a beer and a long nap and then she’d be fine.

First, they had to get out of his damn church. She led the way this time, creeping past the vault, checking any doors they passed. All clear. Where was everyone? They tentatively climbed the steps back up to the vestry and peered out into the church. Eileen hesitated as Jack’s hand threw out to stop her moving.

“I hear voices,” he mouthed. “From the front doors.”

“We’ll have to be cautious. Try and gauge how many of them there are. Draw them in a few at a time.” Sam murmured, and Eileen cursed herself for not bringing the sword with her.

Jack shook his head and pointed directly across from where they were standing. “There’s another way out. This was a church once upon a time. There are other doors across the transept.”

Eileen turned to follow Jack’s line of sight and spotted the oak doors. He was right, there was another way out. Unguarded. It seemed like they weren’t expecting anyone to make it up here. Eileen felt a vicious stab of satisfaction at their underestimation. They had survived, and they had made it out.

She pushed open the right-hand door silently, breathing in the fresh air. Now her own survival was no longer in jeopardy, Eileen allowed her attention to turn to the elephant in the room.

Where were the others?

 

 **04:16 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

Claire looked down at the gun in her hand with awe and no small amount of excitement. A face had popped up from the stairs, and she’d fired on instinct. What she hadn’t expected was the fifty-foot flame to burst out of the end. The smell of burnt flesh was acrid, but if she could smell it, so could the others below. Hopefully that would stop them in their tracks. She knew there were too many of them to face head on.

Maybe with multiple flamethrowers and the rest of the team by her side. But with just her, the odds of success were low. Dean would increase their odds exponentially, but he was too busy trying to find a means of escape.

Her only option was to buy him as much as time as she could, so she kept sporadic spouts of scorching flame flickering down the stairs. It was more of a deterrent than a pointed defence, but she wasn’t sure how much fuel was left in the flamethrower. They were at a stalemate, but sooner or later one side would fold.

“Dean, you need to hurry it up!” She called out, using his first name to display the urgency of the situation. Ranks could be dropped at this point, now that he had the potential to be the last friendly face she saw.

“One second,” he yelled back from around the other side of the spire.

Claire took a deep breath and sent another blast of fire down the stairs, but after a couple of seconds, the flame sputtered and died. Empty. Claire threw it to one side and drew one of Dean’s newly reloaded pistols from her pocket as she backed up, circling around to where Dean was working.

He had tied a rope around one of the window bars, the other end wrapped around his waist and the slack looped around his right wrist.

“I’m gonna test this first,” he told her tightly. “You’re gonna be here on your own for just a minute. I need you to hold the slack.”

She grabbed the thick material, ignoring the pain in her palms. From the stairs, she heard another gunshot and the sound of a bullet ricocheting against stone. Their attackers were moving forward again, but hesitantly, fearing a trap. It was only a matter of time before they figured out the flamethrower was out of fuel.

Claire turned back, and Dean was climbing out into the stone parapet, reaching out to take the slack from her. Blankly, she stared at him, feeling like she should say something.

“Be careful.”

Dean looked back at her and grinned, only partially masking his fear behind his charming smile. “Don’t worry, my suicidal tendencies only come out on Tuesdays.”

“It  _is_ Tuesday.”

Dean laughed and peeked over the edge. His smile dropped a little as they both took in the three-hundred-foot drop. It would unsettle anyone, knowing how far they could fall if the slightest thing went wrong. The only thing that was motivating them was the fear of certain death if they stayed up here.

Dean exhaled, long and slow turning to face away from the spire. Twelve feet away, three hundred feet above ground level, stood the north spire. He’d never make the window, Dean had already accepted that. He wasn’t aiming for the window. Even a handhold would do, any of the jutting out bricks, gargoyles, window ledges. Anything that would stop him plummeting to his death.

It wasn’t his favourite plan in the world. But right now, it was his only plan.

Claire’s hand flew to her mouth as Dean bent his knees and leapt forward. He leaned forward, dropping the slack of the rope as he sailed across the gap. As predicted, he missed the window and began to fall. His heart in his throat, Dean scrabbled for the stone ledge beneath it, but he couldn’t maintain his grip. His chest impacted with the wall with considerable force, sending wracking pain through his already-bruised ribs.

Just as he resigned himself to the plummet, Dean’s foot impacted with something solid and stopped his freefall, catching his balance only a foot or so below the window ledge. He looked down at the stone angel that had stopped his fall. Michael, if he wasn’t mistaken, judging from the hefty stone sword he was wielding. Dean took a second to catch his breath and thank his lucky stars that he was still alive, before pulling himself up to the window ledge and rolling through the window.

Seeing Dean was safe, Claire risked a glance behind her. The gunfire had stopped and everything was quiet below. Too quiet. It was only a matter of time before someone came up to assess the situation. She needed to move now.

She climbed onto the ledge. It was old but sturdy and she took a deep breath, ignoring the slap of the wind in her face, and her hair flying around wildly.

Dean had just finished tying the rope on his end, forming a tightrope. “Come on!”

She looked at the rope and then to Dean, fear filling her eyes. She found only encouragement in his own.

Claire looked back down at the rope. She’d done this before, in gym class. Hand over hand, dragging her legs behind her. Except she usually had a harness and primarily wasn’t hanging three hundred feet in the air. She leaned out, her hands wrapping around the rope tightly, but Claire couldn’t bring herself to make the leap and step off the ledge.

A loud thud behind her drew her attention. She watched slowly as a dull grey object bounced through the open doorway and came to a halt on the stone observatory.

Claire leapt forward, swinging her body around as she scrambled along the rope. She didn’t want to be anywhere near that device, whatever it was. When she reached the other side, she felt Dean grasp her around the torso, pulling her safely over the ledge.

She didn’t even get a chance to thank him. As soon as her toes touched the floor, the south spire exploded, blue flames roaring. Claire and Dean were flung to the ground as the inferno raged across from them. Claire felt her head hit the floor and lay stunned for a moment.

“Claire? Are you okay? Claire!” Dean barked, shaking her arm.

“I… yeah. I’m good,” she croaked, propping herself up on one elbow as she looked over at the other spire. She’d never seen flames so high, roaring and fighting against the strong winds. From far away, Claire could just about make out the sound of sirens, rapidly drawing closer.

“We have to go,” Dean told her gently. “They’re gonna think we’re dead now. We should keep it that way while we figure out what to do.”

Dazed from her head injury and all too aware of the blood dripping down the side of her face, Claire just nodded. She allowed Dean to lead her down the spiral stairs again but stared numbly at the floor. They were almost blown to pieces. Jack was dead, along with Sam and Eileen. She hadn’t known either of them that well, but she could see Dean had. Even though his face was solemn and gave nothing away, there was something reckless and mournful in his eyes.

The sounds of an engine revving and screeching tyres made Dean stop, and he looked out of one of the slit-like windows.

“They’re leaving?”

Claire looked past him. From here she could see the pair of black vans racing across the square. That was a good sign. Their ruse had worked; the Demon Court thought they were dead. It would be to their detriment. They’d regret ever leaving any survivors when Claire was through with them. That smug son of a bitch who’d held a gun to her back would pay for taking away her brother.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Dean muttered, starting down the stairs again. “We need to get out of here now.”

Claire concurred. They hit the foyer at a run, bursting through the main doors and into the square. Once they were out in the open, they made a hard left and disappeared into the tree line. Behind them, the cathedral exploded, like a series of fireworks going off one after the other. The stained-glass windows shattered, centuries old artwork lost as a series of incendiary devices all but annihilated everything in the building. Even amidst her own grief, Claire felt a pang of longing for the lost artworks housed below. The lost Rembrandt that nobody would ever see again.

It was preferable to the thought of her brother, burning away to cinders beneath them. She wouldn’t even be able to recover a body to bury. There would be nothing left but ash.

Dean wound an arm around her and Claire pressed her face to his chest as she realised she was crying, sobs escaping against her will. Tears flowed free and unbidden as everything else faded away, and she allowed herself to do the very thing she’d been fighting.

She allowed herself to mourn.


	6. Purity

**APRIL 24TH, 05:23 AM** **  
** **LYON, FRANCE**

It was an hour later when Dean and Claire stumbled into the hotel reception, exhausted, bloody and ragged. They were definitely a sight to behold. Each of the three taxis they had taken to get here had been driven by a different man that had felt compelled to tell them so. They’d been trying to lose any potential tails and Dean was still clinging to vague hope by following protocol. Whenever he and Sam were separated, they went to the first hotel in the Yellow Pages and checked in under the name Jim Rockford.

Dean’s first plan was a shower and then they’d figure things out from there.

“Need two rooms, preferably adjoining,” he grunted at the receptionist, sliding over a fake ID and a small wad of cash.

The receptionist looked them over, unimpressed by their dishevelled state, and wisely decided not to ask questions. She took the cash and ran his ID through her system, fingers pausing on the keys.

“The rest of your party has already arrived, Mr. Rockford. They’re upstairs, room 402.”

Dean’s head snapped up and he could feel his heart constrict. His party? He wasn’t sure what kind of expression was on his face, but he was confident it was mirrored on Claire’s face too.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking his ID back and a room key, walking swiftly to the elevator.

“Do you think -” Claire began, as they rose up through the floors.

Dean shook his head and as the elevator doors slid open, he withdrew his pistol, keeping it discreetly by his side. He didn’t think anything, not until he saw it with his own two eyes. This could be a second ambush, especially since Halo seemed to know everything about him. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if the Men of Letters operative had discovered the protocol he and Sam had established long ago.

He reached the doorway and slid the key in to the lock silently. He turned to Claire and held up a finger for her to wait.

Turning the key, Dean threw open the door and pointed his gun into the room, only to find two guns pointed right back at him.

He lowered his weapon at the same time as the others. “Sam,” he breathed, reaching out to clasp his brother in a hug. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Likewise, Dean. We thought you were dead.” Sam laughed tiredly as they pulled back.

Dean looked around the room to see Eileen, sitting in front of her laptop, freshly showered and clicking through some images. Jack was across the other side of the room, on the phone, but he put it down in favour of catching Claire as she leapt for him, squeezing him tightly.

“Shower?” He asked. Sam pointed him to a door across the room. “Our room is through there. Be quick, we’ve got some information you might want to see.”

Dean shot him a look. “Sammy, if you had any idea what I just went through, you’d be telling me to take my sweet ass time. Which is exactly what I’m gonna do.”

“We got pictures of everyone who left that cathedral alive,” Sam pressed.

Despite his heavy need to take a shower, Dean stopped dead in his tracks. For any other mission, he might have continued towards the shower, but this one was personal. He turned, looking from Sam to Eileen, who was gesturing to the laptop in front of her.

“Bring up the pictures.”

Before she could do anything, Jack put the phone down, looking grave. Clearly whatever the subject of the call was, it hasn't been good. “Turn on the news.”

Dean didn’t argue with him, despite the energy thrumming through his body at the thought of seeing those photographs. A few seconds ago, he’d been ready to shower and crawl into bed, but now progress called and he was almost ready to relive the night all over again.

Claire found the remote and switched the TV on, flicking through to the first news station she could find. They were all speaking French, naturally, but Dean knew enough to follow the gist, even without Sam translating the subtitles.

The report was heavily focused on the firebombing of the cathedral. What had initially been covered up as a terrorist attack had now been confirmed in the eyes of the public. Even from the windows of their hotel room, they could see the smoke billowing into the sky, but the news cameras had a much closer view of the devastation. Even now the fire was still raging, a cacophony of sirens from the _gendarmerie_ , ambulance and fire engines as they surrounded the cathedral, doing their best to subdue the flames.

“ _The whereabouts of the two Vatican emissaries sent to bless the nave is currently unknown, but it is believed that they were inside when the fire started -_ ”

Claire blinked. “That sounds like they think we started the fire!”

“Or perished in it,” Sam murmured.

“Shh!” Dean waved at them, trying to listen.

“ _\- survivor of the first attack,_ Jesse Cuevas _, was found dead in his hospital bed only moments ago. The cause of death is still unknown, but as a key witness to the earlier events, foul play is not unlikely-”_

Dean stopped listening, feeling sick to his stomach. He should have considered this, but his focus had been skewed by the assumed loss of his brother, his team. Instead of taking action and recognising the attack for what it was, he’d failed as a leader and let an innocent civilian be killed.

It all made sense now. The firebombing, trying to kill the investigators, it had been a whitewash operation. The Demon Court were destroying any hint of evidence that could lead back to them. Which, if Dean had had the foresight to think about it, would make silencing the only witness to their initial goal a priority.

Behind him, Claire switched off the television silently. Nobody spoke for a long moment, feeling the sting of their own failure to consider Jesse Cuevas might be in danger.

“Do they really think we started that fire?”

Dean shook his head. “No, if they considered you both persons of interest, your pictures would be all over the news by now. They’re worried you were inside the church and the Vatican will make waves about it.”

“So, they’ll report back to the Vatican that we’re dead?”

“That’s exactly what we want,” Dean assured her. “Like I said before, they think they took care of us and eliminated the only people who had any semblance of uncovering their plans. That gives us an advantage. They’re not going to be looking over their shoulders while they make their next move.”

Eileen gave a half-laugh. “And they’re not going to be seeking us out to throw more grenades at us. That’s the best part.”

She tapped her laptop, turning it around so the rest of the room could see the display. “The pictures are up. We hid in the treeline once we got out, but we didn’t just want to do nothing. I figured that pictures would help us get an ID, put us a step closer.”

Dean had to admit, he was impressed at their resourcefulness. He wasn’t sure he’d have had the initiative to stick around and take photographs if he and Claire had gotten out of the church first. But then Dean was forced to have different priorities due to Claire being with him. Without Claire, he’d probably have gone back inside looking for his brother.

Thumbnail images filled the screen and Eileen clicked through them one by one, letting everybody take a good look.

“This one,” Claire stopped her. “He grabbed me. I think he’s the leader.”

Dean nodded absently. “The British guy. Open it full size.”

Eileen double-clicked. The image came up, covering the whole screen. The subject of the image was caught mid-stride as he strolled down the steps of the cathedral. He had short brown hair and a trimmed beard. Eye colour was impossible to make out, but his smug expression couldn’t be missed. It was obvious he expected the ARTEMIS agents to be dead. He was dressed mostly in black, but in an expensive suit and tie. Where the other assailants had worn body armour, he and Halo had worn suits. They clearly hadn’t been expecting to be drawn into the combat.

“Does anyone recognise him?” Dean asked.

Nobody spoke up.

“We can run it through facial-recognition if we upload it to ARTEMIS?” Eileen suggested.

Dean shook his head. “Not yet,” he hesitated before continuing. “I think we should fall off the grid on this one.”

He looked around at all the others, half-expecting to be challenged. Perhaps not by Claire and Jack, who didn’t know his _modus operandi_. Sam and Eileen were another matter. They knew his penchant for acting of his own free will, without ARTEMIS watching over him. He expected them to speak up in objection, to remind him of his failure in Pine Bluff, to tell him it wasn’t a good idea.

Nobody did.

Dean knew it had nothing to do with his role as team leader. Sam was his brother, he had a free pass to challenge any bad decisions Dean made. He doubted Eileen would stay quiet if she disagreed, either. It was that they trusted him to have a good reason, even if they didn’t understand what it was right now. They trusted that he would explain his choices.

Dean’s eyes drifted over to Claire and Jack, who were staring at him expectantly. It was… overwhelming, to know that these people would follow his lead if he asked them to. Not used to making this kind of decision, Dean wished he could talk to Director Bradbury, to let their next step be on her orders. To let any fallout land on her shoulders.

It wasn’t an option. Not yet.

“The Demon Court had enough incendiary devices to blow up the cathedral,” Dean spoke up eventually. “We were below, we wouldn’t have known there was a problem until it was too late to get out. We’d have been burned alive. But they sought us out. They brought guns, grenades and enough men to almost overwhelm us.”

Sam figured it out first. “They knew we were there. Not just the two Vatican emissaries, which were public knowledge. They knew ARTEMIS was there. Or someone like us, and they needed to make sure we were dead.”

“So, they were either spying on us or they had intel of our moves?” Jack rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. “I fear that this could be from our end. The Demon Court has always claimed to have spies inside of the Vatican. Add to that the trouble Claire and I faced before we even left Rome, the disappearance of Cardinal Duma when we called him for help… I think the source of the leak may be the Holy See.”

Dean shook his head, leaning over to point at another picture. “Unfortunately, I disagree. Open that one.”

Eileen did so. The image opened on the Men of Letters agent. Dean stared at him for a long time, committing everything to memory. The black suit, the red tie, the shock of messy dark hair and lightly stubbled chin. He was donning a tan trench coat as he climbed into the back of one of the black vans Dean had seen earlier.

“Who is he?” Claire asked. “He spoke like he knew you. He knew your name.”

Sam’s head whipped around to look at Dean with a frown. “Who is he?” He echoed.

“That’s the guy who ambushed me at Pine Bluff Arsenal.”

Sam blinked, turning back to the screen to get a better look, his eyes narrowing. “The Men of Letters agent?” He looked closer. “I see the halo necklace. Same one he left you?”

Dean nodded. “Must have been a replica.”

Claire and Jack looked confused, clearly hesitant to pry into ARTEMIS territory, but Dean was happy to explain. This affected all of them, so the knowledge was his to share. He steered clear of anything sensitive, but he shared that the Men of Letters had a colourful history where ARTEMIS was concerned, dating back almost a decade.

“Then the problem is on our end?” Eileen asked.

Dean shrugged. “What are the chances that this guy shows up twice? First time he was sent by the Men of Letters as a direct strike against ARTEMIS. Now the Men of Letters have clearly allied themselves with the Demon Court, and he’s there again. At this stage, I can’t rule out that it’s because of our involvement.”

“The Demon Court just got a hell of a lot more power behind them then,” Sam sighed.

Dean shook his head, slowly. “No. I don’t think this is a long-term arrangement. I feel like the Men of Letters had their own agenda and it doesn’t completely ally with that of the Demon Court. That started and ended with us.”

“How can you know that?” Jack asked, frowning.

Dean nodded towards the screen. “Because Halo let us escape today.”

Silence met his words. Dean looked up, expecting disbelief, but all he saw was blind faith. They all accepted his words as truth and were reeling from it.

“Why would he let you go if their purpose was to kill us?”

Dean had thought about this. He’d done nothing _but_ think about this from the moment he and Claire had left the cathedral. Now, he felt like he finally had an answer.

“Because the Men of Letters are playing the Demon Court. Oh sure, they’re acting nice right now, because they’ve been asked for help to eliminate us. But if we’re dead, the partnership would end, and the Men of Letters would never find out what the Demon Court knows about us, or about ARTEMIS. Until all that information comes to light, we’re more valuable alive to the Men of Letters.”

“Which means _he_...” Claire nodded to the screen. “Might suspect we’re alive. But the Court thinks we were killed in the explosion.”

“Yeah, exactly. Which is another reason to stay under the radar. The Demon Court will end their alliance with the Men of Letters and we’ll have one less opponent to worry about.”

Sam’s eyes were fixed on Dean now, and Dean knew every thought that was flickering in his brother’s head. This wasn’t normally how Dean would react. Under any other circumstances, he would do anything in his power to get face-to-face with the asshole that had ambushed him. Truth be told, Dean would like nothing better than to get his chance to end Halo’s life.

But it had to be on his own terms, and when nothing else was riding on it. That opportunity would come. Right now, he had a job to do.

“So what’s next?” Eileen asked. “Any trace of evidence in the cathedral will be burned away by now. We have nothing.”

Sam looked up, eyes flickering to Dean’s pack. “Not nothing. We have the blood powder that we tested from the reliquary. That’s the key to all this. But if we’re staying under the radar, we can’t send it back to ARTEMIS for tests.”

“The question plaguing me is how the powder got in the reliquary in the first place.” Jack murmured. “The Vatican doesn’t just shove the supposed bones of Cain into a box and forget about them. Every few years they’ll be removed carefully so the chest can be cleaned. I think we can assume they would also clean the inside.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he got what Jack was driving at. “You think the blood powder came from the _bones_.”

He remembered Jack’s earlier quote from the book of Genesis. Blood from an earthly mineral, he’d thought. _Blood from_ _bone._

“That does seem to be the most likely explanation,” Eileen agreed.

Sam shook his head. “We can’t just assume that. We’re _scientists_. This is a hypothesis, and a likely one, but we have no way to test it. The Demon Court has all the bones and we have no idea where.”

Claire and Jack met each other’s eyes, wide and alert.

“What?” Dean asked, noticing their excitement.

“They don’t have all the bones,” Jack told him, as Claire dug through her pack, pulling out the ancient scroll they’d taken from Duma’s desk.

Dean stared at the old parchment, blinking in confusion, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Where?”

Claire answered for them, looking up from the scroll with shining eyes. “ _Venezia._ ”

 

 **01:42 PM** **  
** **VENICE, ITALY**

Dean sighed with relief as he saw the SR11 come to an end and the first signs of Venice greeted them. He was exhausted, even trading off driving with Sam halfway had only gotten him a few hours of sleep. Not enough, by any stretch. Claire and Jack had advised him to park on the mainland and take public transport into Venice, but he had declined. After the last two ambushes, he wasn’t going to be caught unawares again. He wanted a means to get out of Venice if the need arose.

It took seven hours to drive from Lyon to Venice. They’d made it in six, including pit stops in Turin and Milan to refuel and take bathroom breaks. Dean wasn’t wasting any time. The detour to Venice was already taking up time they didn’t really have, and he wasn’t sure to what end. They might be able to solve some of the mysteries of the blood powder, but they had no way of finding out what the Demon Court’s next moves were. They were running half a pace behind when they needed to be ahead.

To keep their anonymity, they’d opted to travel by car instead of plane. Free movement in the EU had made that significantly easier, and they passed the France/Italy border easily with false passports. It was a necessary move, both to keep the Demon Court thinking they were dead and to hide from ARTEMIS’ extensive radar. It also had the added bonus of allowing them to travel by car, meaning that Dean didn’t have to deal with flying again. That had factored heavily when Dean had made his decision.

His plan to check in with the Director was contingent on retrieving the bones from St. Mark’s. He refused to check in with another failure weighing on him. They would secure the relics and head directly to Vatican City. Once they were there, Dean would check in with ARTEMIS and Jack with his own superior. While that was still a risky move when both parties were suspected of a leak, the situation had changed with the firebombing of the cathedral.

News would have reached Director Bradbury by now, and she’d be impatiently waiting for their report. They’d already missed their first check-in.

“I’m starving,” Eileen spoke up, interrupting Dean’s planning. “That protein bar four hours ago was great, don’t get me wrong, but I need people food now.”

Dean held back his sigh and reluctantly assented. He could tell that everyone was getting restless, sleep deprivation and hunger taking its toll on all of them. They weren’t going to be at their best if they didn’t at least have a decent meal. So, he pushed his reservations aside and focused on the thought of a drive-through cheeseburger. It cheered him up a little. That was what he needed.

They parked their car and Claire took the lead, weaving them through the maze-like streets of Venice. “Stay close. Venice can be confusing to first-time tourists. I wouldn’t recommend getting lost or separated from the group.”

Dean bit back a smile. She sounded like a professor, talking to her class. He was glad the disapproval he felt radiating from Claire when they first met had all but gone now. It was impossible to go through what they did and come out hating each other. Still, he felt fiercely protective of Claire, like she was the younger sister he never wanted, so he kept an eye on her. Being back in Italy seemed to be doing wonders for her, she was in familiar territory and was thriving on it. The weakness and grief she had displayed last night at the apparent loss of her brother was long gone, to be replaced by a weightlessness that Dean couldn’t quantify.

They walked for a short time in silence. Dean noted all the beautiful architecture, the age of some of the buildings. It was strange, seeing a city without roads. Ferries and gondolas passed by on the canals, and the hustle and bustle of tourists and citizen betrayed the liveliness of the city despite its lack of cars. It was picturesque, in an old, decrepit kind of way. The smell was almost overpowering, the scent of stagnant water from the canals.

They passed a church, tall and domed, and Dean squinted at it, taking it all in. Walking quickly, he caught up with Claire and nodded at the church.

“That’s not St Mark’s, right?”

Claire smiled, shaking her head. “San Geremia. San Marco is to the south, just east of the bend of the Grand Canal. We’ll travel there afterwards, it’s about twenty minutes from here on foot. I’m taking us for breakfast first.” She rounded the corner and Dean found himself confronted with the first sign of greenery since they entered Venice. Trees and vibrant flowers dotted the walkway as they made their way along back towards the waterfront.

“ _Trattoria Vittoria_ ,” Claire pointed it out as they grew close. “They offer a fantastic lunch menu. Italians don’t take their meals lightly. Try not to offend anyone.”

Dean scoffed, falling back so he was in-step with Sam. “We’re apparently going there,” he pointed out the restaurant Claire had just picked out. “I would have been fine with drive-through.”

“Yeah, speak for yourself. I’m looking forward to experiencing an authentic Italian lunch. You do realise you’re not gonna get a burger in there, right?” Sam grinned. “Not in Italy.”

Dean pulled a face. “I can settle for pizza. Besides, I’m not just a one-food kind of guy, Sammy. I’m open to all options presented to me.”

He shot his brother a smug grin and entered the restaurant, appreciating the coolness of the interior. While Venice wasn’t exactly hot this early in the year, the air conditioning would keep him alert. Wearing the bodysuit under his clothes kept him a little warmer than he wanted to be, but it was better than being caught without armour. He’d been ambushed one too many times recently.

Dean stepped forward, just a pace behind Claire as she walked confidently inside. She talked rapidly to the older man with long dark hair who came out to greet them. Smiling widely, she embraced him swiftly, and turned to the others, waving them in.

“Derek!” Jack greeted, reaching out to embrace the man warmly. It was the Italian custom, one that he and Claire seemed to have adopted as their own after living there for so many years. “Truly a pleasure. It has been so long.”

Dropping into a seat at the table they were directed too, Dean narrowed his eyes at the exchange. “I take it you’ve eaten here before?”

He felt a pang of annoyance. What part of ‘off the grid’ did Jack and Claire find so hard to understand? All it took was for the wrong person to overhear a rumour of their presence and their cover was blown.

“We’re practically family, no?” Derek exclaimed enthusiastically, waving his hands in excitement. “To be joined in holy matrimony one day, when you marry my little Kaia.”

“Kaia?” Dean repeated, turning to Jack. “Your girlfriend?”

Claire cleared her throat quietly. “Mine, actually. We’ve been together over a year now.”

“Oh. That’s great.” Dean smiled. He could tell she was nervous about outing herself, they hadn’t known each other long enough to feel truly comfortable sharing such personal details about themselves. Especially without knowing how someone would react, it was a touchy subject. “How did you meet?”

“At the Pantheon. I was on a field trip with my freshman class, and Kaia overheard me lecturing and had some interesting facts of her own to share. I asked her to join us,” Claire smiled too, relaxing at the memory and the acceptance.

Derek rescued her from any further questions, and Dean found himself grateful for the reprieve as menus were distributed. He didn’t want to pry, and it was obvious Claire wasn’t totally comfortable with the line of questioning. Opening the menu, he found himself a little lost as he perused the contents. Despite speaking fluent Italian, he didn’t know what a lot of items were, so he just read the list of ingredients and picked something at random.

“The _Panzanella_ , and the, uh, salt cod,” Dean ordered awkwardly. At least he knew what the fish was.

When Derek scuttled away, Sam leaned over to Dean. “I’m surprised you ordered the _Panzanella_ , I gotta say.”

Dean stared at him. “It’s a pizza. What’s not to like?”

“ _Pi_ \- Dean, it’s a salad.”

“Salad?” Dean looked down at the menu. “Bread, tomato, onions… aww, man. I can’t eat a salad, I need warrior food!” He got up to go and catch Derek, intent on changing his order, while the rest of the table laughed at his expense.

Truth be told, Dean was glad they had this break. Laughter and easy conversation were exactly what they all needed at this point. A momentary respite, for what was sure to be a difficult time ahead. After they were done in Venice, they only had to get to Vatican City and then their short reprieve would be over. The real work would begin: tracking down the Demon Court, uncovering their endgame, confiscating the device and what was left of the bones. When he returned, he looked down the table towards Jack and Claire. When they got back to Vatican City, their role in this mission would officially end. ARTEMIS would take over.

Almost as if he sensed what Dean was thinking, Jack looked up and met his eyes. He rose, picking up his glass of water. “Commander, perhaps you and I could stretch our legs on the waterfront and have a word. I have some thoughts to share about our discoveries in Lyon.”

Dean nodded, feeling the curious gaze of his brother and Eileen, but he ignored them for now. He was curious about what Jack had discovered. Following him out of the restaurant and onto the terrace, Dean was glad to see Jack moving away from the restaurant. Clearly this warranted privacy, or he would have spoken at the table.

“I understand that the role Claire and I play in this investigation is coming to an end. The recovery of the rest of the bones will complete everything I was sent out to do, at least until you recover the ones taken from Lyon. I’ve looked at things from your perspective, and I suspect your next move after we reach Vatican City is to take your teammates and leave us behind.”

Dean fixed him with a gaze. He considered a noncommittal response to Jack’s query, but he’d been invaluable so far and deserved an honest answer. Jack might work for the Vatican, but he had no idea of the kind of dangers ARTEMIS had them facing. Even if he wasn’t totally out of his depth, Claire would be.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “I think it’s the best plan we have.”

“I disagree. If you’re right about the bones, then we are best served still working together. The Demon Court has long since been linked to the Vatican. I believe that, with their numerous resources, they could have stolen the bones without any fuss. They chose to hit hard and take no prisoners, and then to set a historical building on fire, solely because it was a Catholic church.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You have no basis for that assumption. They might well have had this extreme reaction for a synagogue or a museum.”

“And maybe they wouldn’t,” Jack countered. “But the fact remains that the Demon Court has plagued the Holy See throughout history and even claim to have spies inside the Vatican. We know that the Demon Court places the recovery of lost knowledge and the purity of their bloodline above anything else.”

Unable to argue against that, Dean gave a curt nod, wondering when Jack was going to get to his point.

“I believe the attack on the Church goes all the way back to Cain and Abel, back to the beginning of the Bible itself. Did you know that the only book of the Bible that references the story of Cain and Abel is Genesis? Do you know who was originally credited as the writer of Genesis?”

“Moses,” Dean replied, leaning against the wall. He might only have a single shred of faith left in him, but growing up he’d believed in a higher power. He knew his stuff.

“And do you know who Moses is descended from?” Jack pressed, answering the question when Dean shook his head. “Both Cain and his brother, Seth. The story must have been passed down from father to son, through the generations. The only record we have is from the sibling who was left behind to pick up the pieces, after his eldest brother was sentenced to a life of wandering for the murder of his other brother.”

Dean nodded, following the path of logic. “You’re saying that Genesis isn’t a wholly accurate account of what happened? That the vague details of Cain killing his brother might not be what they appear?”

“To a certain extent,” Jack agreed. “You said it yourself, the Bible is extremely vague about what happened, we don’t even know the identity of Cain’s wife.”

“But you have a theory about that.”

“I do. But it’s not my theory. The Dead Sea Scrolls, you’ve heard of them?”

“The religious texts that were discovered in caves near the Dead Sea in the 1950’s. They were discovered to be Aramaic and Hebrew writings of events that are missing from the Bible. Your theory came from those?”

Jack inclined his head. “A few of them are safely tucked away in the Vatican Archives. I took the liberty of reading them before leaving Italy. As Eve was made of Adam’s rib, so Cain’s wife was made of his. After Cain repented, God was merciful. Towards the end of Cain’s life, He gave Cain that which he longed for most after a lifetime of solitude. A wife.”

He looked at Dean in what could only be described as a challenge. Not one to back down from it, Dean thought over what that would mean and how that would link to the events of the massacre in Lyon.

“A wife with his own DNA,” Dean realised, eventually. “To keep his bloodline pure. But that still wouldn’t work. He had generations of children, even if most of them kept their bloodline untainted, not all of them did. Then the flood that wiped out most of humanity would have killed off the rest. Unless you’re trying to tell me Noah’s family were descended from Cain?”

“Naamah, Noah’s wife, was descended from Cain, but it’s impossible to discern whether or not she was a pure descendant. Either way, her children wouldn’t be, as Noah was a descendant of Seth. This, of course, depends on whether it’s true that Noah and his family were the only survivors of the Great Flood.”

“Let me guess,” Dean replied cynically. “You think he wasn’t?”

Jack shrugged, ignoring the disbelieving tone. “Not my theory again. Another of the scrolls referenced other survivors. God commanded those who had shown to be worthy of mercy, those who had lived a good life in His name, to head to Mount Ararat. The mountain remained unaffected by the flood, and everyone who was there survived. I think it’s safe to assume that some of the survivors held onto Cain’s ‘pure’ bloodline.”

Dean nodded slowly. It was a stretch, for sure. A thin connection and a whole lot of assumptions. But Dean couldn’t help but feel like Jack was right in this instance. The doctrine of the Demon Court must have come from somewhere.

“So how does that relate to the massacre in Lyon?”

“I don’t have all the answers yet. I have a lot of theories with nothing substantial to back any of them up. But I do know that you need me. I see your broken faith, and I see your brother’s tentative beliefs. I have a background in religion that none of you have. I could be an asset in your investigation, and none of you have access to the kind of information housed in the Vatican Archives.”

Dean couldn’t deny that, as much as he wanted to. He knew Jack was right. None of his team had any kind of background in religion, no qualifications of that kind whatsoever. Add to that the fact that the Vatican was reluctant to let anyone enter the Archives without special dispensation that not even ARTEMIS could arrange, he was left with no other choice.

Jack had won him over.

Sensing his victory, Jack straightened up, finally coming to his point. “But not my sister. When we arrive in Vatican City, she stays behind. I almost lost her once today. I won’t risk that again.”

Dean reached out and shook Jack’s hand. That was something they both agreed on.

 

 **02:36 PM** **  
** **VENICE, ITALY**

Claire heard a step behind her and she turned, expecting it to be Derek with their order. Her heart thudded in her chest and she forgot how to breathe as she gazed upon the young woman standing there. Dark hair covered her head, unruly curls framing her soft, warm brown face. Claire’s gaze drifted upwards from a pointed chin, to plump lips, eventually meeting the dark brown pools of Kaia’s eyes.

Derek stood behind her, arms spread in triumph. “Surprise!”

Claire rose to her feet in shock, a trembling hand reaching out towards her girlfriend. “Kaia? What are you doing here?”

Kaia ignored the outstretched hand in favour of pulling Claire in for a tight hug, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “I got this crazy phone call at work from the Carabinieri. They said someone broke into our home and that I should make arrangements to spend the night elsewhere. I didn’t have anywhere else to go in Rome and I didn’t want to check into a hotel in case you tried to call me, so I came here.”

“She arrived this morning!” Derek grinned. Claire can see how proud he was that he’d been able to surprise her like this, and she plastered a huge smile on her face, despite the guilt flooding through her. She hadn’t even thought to call and check up on Kaia, to make sure that she was safe, and their apartment was secured.

“Who are your friends?” Kaia asked, awkwardly, sitting down in the space next to Claire. “Are they related to why you left so suddenly?”

The table fell silent, feeling the awkwardness of the situation. Claire flushed, knowing she couldn’t talk about their mission but also feeling the strain of having to lie to her girlfriend. Taking a deep breath, Claire steadied herself and started by addressing Kaia’s first question. The rest could come a little later. The break of introductions would give her a chance to think.

“This is Sam and Eileen. Sam, Eileen, this is my girlfriend, Kaia.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Eileen’s hands whipped around to sign her sentence as she spoke, and then she offered her hand to shake.

Sam followed suit. “Claire was just telling us how you met in the Pantheon? I imagine it’s not often Claire meets someone who knows more about art history than she does?”

Kaia relaxed visibly and let out a genuine laugh. Claire relaxed too, grateful that Sam was able to defuse the situation. She’d known from the second she agreed to accompany Jack that there would be some difficult questions to answer the next time she faced Kaia. She’d just expected to have a little more time before having to lie.

“No, I think she was quite surprised, in all honesty. But it is my trade. I’m a curator, currently stationed at Castel Sant’Angelo. So if you ever need a tour, you know where I am.”

“That sounds amazing.” Eileen’s expression showed genuine interest and disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to take Kaia up on her offer. “But I think we’re heading back Stateside as soon as our business here is complete. Maybe in the future.”

Claire glanced towards the door as she saw Dean and her brother returning from their private conversation. As they weaved through the tables, Claire narrowed her eyes. Jack wouldn’t meet her gaze, looking anywhere but at her. Her eyes turned to Dean who, in a direct contrast with her brother, was openly meeting her eyes. Except they were clouded with something akin to guilt.

In that moment, she knew what Jack had asked of Dean, and the outcome of that request. She suddenly had no appetite and instead could feel anger curling around her, dark tendrils of fury at the edges of her vision and around her heart.

She could see the moment that Jack noticed their extra guest and the shock that shattered his expression.

“Kaia? What are you doing here?”

Dean’s head snapped up and Claire could feel the moment that his gaze turned back towards her, accusingly. She knew what he was thinking, that she had picked this restaurant to check in with her girlfriend, but she had no way of explaining that he was wrong. Not in front of Kaia.

“I got here this morning. Supposedly our apartment wasn’t safe for me to stay in, so I came here,” Kaia shrugged, getting up once again to greet Jack. They’d always gotten along, which Claire was incredibly thankful for.

Claire felt her heart thud in her chest as she relived the experience of the home invasion. It had only happened yesterday, so it still felt a little raw, but after the events of Lyon it also felt like a million years ago. “I asked General Milligan to call you. When Jack and I went to pack a bag for this trip, there was an intruder. I escaped through the bathroom window. I was so scared you’d come home, and he’d be there. I don’t know what I would do if you got hurt.”

“Relax,” Kaia shushed her, reaching out to entwine their fingers. Claire held on for dear life. “It was just a burglar. He wasn’t going to stick around like it was something personal. He probably robbed us blind and then escaped. The Carabinieri want me to make a statement about everything that was taken when I get back, but apparently the apartment is a real mess.”

Claire felt her anger strengthen at that. Not only had the intruder had the gall to try and kill her in her own apartment, but he’d trashed the place too? She pushed down her rage in favour of stroking Kaia’s hand with her thumb.

“I’m sorry that I just left,” Claire whispered. “I tried to insist that I wait to talk to you. I would have called but my phone… I think I left it in the apartment, in my purse.”

Kaia nodded. “I understand. I just wish we’d been able to talk before you just dashed off. I had no idea where you were, all I know is that Jack needed you and then I find out you’re here…”

At a loss for words, Claire couldn’t do much more than stammer out an apology as she looked down at their entwined hands. She knew Kaia wanted an explanation, but Claire wasn’t in a position to give her one. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t dare in front of Dean.

“I don’t need an apology, Claire. It’s obvious you can’t talk about whatever it is you’re doing, and that’s fine. When you get home, you can tell me as much as you’re allowed to and then we never need to speak about this again. I just want to know when that will be. When are you coming home?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Appetisers were laid down on the table in front of people, but Claire ignored her Caprese salad in favour of her girlfriend. She wanted to give her a full and honest answer to her question, so she tried to answer, truthfully and to the best of her knowledge.

Claire reached out and stroked Kaia’s cheek, brushing an errant curl to one side. “Soon. I promise. I can’t say exactly, but it will be soon, and then everything can go back to the way it was. That’s all I want.”

“That’s all I want, too,” Kaia promised her. Their hands slipped away as they began to eat, but Claire found herself just picking at her salad, sick to her stomach.

Around her, wine was poured, food was eaten with gusto and many compliments to the chef. Conversation flowed freely, but all superficial topics. They steered well clear of anything to do with their reasons for being in Venice. Dean subtly changed the subject whenever it steered too close to anything related to their mission. He did it so artfully that Claire doubted anyone else had even noticed he was doing it.

Still, she felt very much on the outside. Joining in the conversation felt too difficult with everything that was happening around her. She needed to choose her words carefully when talking to Kaia to avoid betraying the trust of the team and giving something away. She couldn’t even look at her brother and Dean, knowing they’d discussed leaving her behind. The whole meal felt like a blur, as if it was happening all around her but she wasn’t part of it.

When they’d eaten and drunk their fill and the meal was winding to a close, Claire took care of the heavily-discounted bill. Saying goodbye to Kaia was difficult, so she simply promised to call and update her within a few days if she wasn’t home. Tears stung her eyes as they embraced, but overall she felt better about things when she left the restaurant.

Yet, despite her weakness where her girlfriend was concerned, Claire was first and foremost Jody and Donna’s child. She had been raised never to let herself be pushed to the side and she wasn’t afraid to handle herself. So when the group turned to her expectantly to lead the way to San Marco, she folded her arms, a scowl marring her face. Not another step would be taken until she’d gotten this out in the open.

Injustice burned deep within her. The idea of two men deciding where her contribution to this investigation ended made her seethe with righteous fury. Not if she had any say in the matter.

“If I’m a part of this team, then I’m a part of it until the end. I’m not just a tour guide you can make use of and then send me home like a child afterwards.”

The look on Dean’s face was worth it, the surprise as he looked over at Jack to see if he’d been expecting this. The sense of vindication was worth it. Clearly neither of them had expected her to sense their intent and take steps to contradict their decision. Perhaps they’d now think twice about making decisions on her behalf.

Claire was having none of it. Her home had been invaded, she’d almost been killed more times than she was willing to admit, and had to lie to her girlfriend’s face about her own whereabouts. Like hell was she about to be dumped back in Rome with nothing more than a ‘thanks for the help’. She was worth more than that. Her input was more valuable than that. They needed her, and she would make them see that.

“And _you_ ,” she turned on Jack, jabbing an angry finger in his direction. “You pulled me into this, but that doesn’t mean you get to pull me out of it. You can deal with me sticking around. Otherwise, you can waste time navigating the streets of _Venezia_ without a guide. But by the time you find your way to San Marco, I’ll be halfway to Rome. You can all walk back. Am I clear?”

She pulled the car keys she’d swiped from Dean as they were leaving the restaurant, holding them up so her intent was unmistakable.

“Crystal,” Jack sighed, shaking his head. “We stay together.”

Jack wouldn’t lie to her. Claire accepted his word as the gospel truth, but he wasn’t the person calling the shots on this mission. She turned her gaze back to Dean, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. Her blue eyes were filled with icy determination and his own glacial look would have caused anyone else to waver. But not her. Not now.

He’d underestimated her once already in the last thirteen hours. He wouldn’t be doing that again. She could almost see the indecision clouding him. He looked somewhere between accepting her ultimatum and hotwiring a car so he could drive them to Rome himself. But the dissension would be a distraction to Jack and her early arrival in Rome would herald their survival. A key piece of information that Dean was desperate to keep to himself for now. He wouldn’t want to give up that advantage. It was Claire’s trump card, and she knew it was the only reason Dean would agree to keep her around.

Slowly, Dean gave a fraction of a nod. It was a begrudging assent, but the concession was good enough for Claire. She would be staying.

Without another word she swept in front of the group, leading them through the labyrinthine streets.

 

 **03:26 PM** **  
** **VENICE, ITALY**

Dean found himself lagging behind as he followed the group, lost in thought. Despite his stiff outer appearance, he’d been happy to concede to Claire’s demands in this instance. He now knew with absolute certainty that nobody here was afraid to challenge his authority, and that made him feel better about his decisions so far.

He could see the obvious signs that she was still angry, the tension in the way she held herself, the straightness of her spine. The way her hands balled into fists at her sides. He couldn’t see her face, but he suspected her lips would be pressed together tightly.

Dean wasn’t often surprised, but Claire had surprised him. How had she even known about what he and Jack had decided? That level of intuition was beyond anything he himself had ever experienced. That and her unwillingness to shy away from conflict was enough for Dean to make the concession that they would all stay together. Even when confronted with something completely out of her comfort zone, like climbing between the two spires in Lyon, she had refused to admit defeat. He’d seen her at her weakest moment and even then, she had persevered.

Claire had the same resolve as the teammates Dean had often handpicked to have his back in the SEALs. He would be remiss if he sent her away now.

His thoughts drifted back to Lyon and the blue-eyed Men of Letters agent. Dean still didn’t even know his name. He supposed it didn’t really matter, when Dean’s only goal was to kill him. The rage burned through him, hot and intense. That opportunity would come, and Dean wouldn’t let it pass. The only difference was that now he might have slightly more mercy. He’d make it quick.

Halo had let him go, let him escape and take Claire with him. Her blood wouldn’t be on Dean’s hands and he couldn’t help but feel grateful for that. But the ire he’d felt from their first meeting still set an inferno inside of his chest. Dean wouldn’t be able to let that go.

A small part of him feared for the ferocity of the emotions that were tied with the Men of Letters agent. The intensity of hate and murderous wrath towards him were the strongest emotions Dean had felt in a long time. Where everything else was kept inside, pushed deep within him, this engulfed him.

It was the most powerful feeling Dean had towards another individual in his life right now, because it was the only emotion Dean allowed himself to feel. His brother was the exception. Sam would always be the exception. They’d both seen too much to go in for that ‘talk about your feelings’ crap. Sam knew Dean loved him, and Dean knew Sam returned the sentiment. They didn’t say it, it wasn’t in their nature.

Dean loved Bobby, Ellen and Jo too. They were the closest thing to family he and Sam had ever known. His birth parents weren’t family in Dean’s eyes. His _real_ parents, the parents that mattered, were Bobby and Ellen. Yet, since Bobby’s accident, Dean had kept them at arm’s length. He couldn’t shake the knowledge that he would lose them both one day. He couldn’t ignore the wrinkles collecting around Ellen’s eyes, the way her hair was starting to turn grey in places. The way Bobby took half-a-dozen pills every morning, noon and night just to get through the day.

He didn’t know how to process that, so he pushed them away. It would hurt less if he didn’t depend on them so much.

Dating wasn’t really a thing, either. Meaningless hookups that were lucky if they lasted until morning? Absolutely. That was how it was for Dean. He’d tried relationships in the past, but they hadn’t ever worked out. Deployment or his countless issues with staying in one place or reckless need to put himself in danger had always been the final straw. Dean didn’t feel any regret, for the most part. That was just how it was.

The job came first. Always.

Now he thought about it, there hadn’t been anyone in a while. More than six months. That surprised him, more so than the fact that he hadn’t noticed. Something to think about when this was all over.

After he’d put a bullet between Halo’s eyes.

Dean brought himself out of his reverie to see that he’d fallen further behind. His steps quickened in an attempt to catch up, pushing his internal thoughts to the side for now.

He had a job to do.

 

 **07:45 AM** **  
** **WASHINGTON D.C.**

Charlie wrung her hands together, resisting the urge to pace her office for what would probably be the millionth time. She’d been here for almost nine hours now, ever since the news of the explosion at the Lyon Cathedral had reached Washington. She’d sent out a secondary team to see what they could find out, but even in the state of emergency, information was slow.

It had been three hours before they were able to subdue the fire enough to allow entry to the cathedral. Even then it still raged on, destroying what could be vital evidence. The cathedral itself had once been an imposing figure of glory in the Lyon horizon. Now it was a burned-out shell. The facility beneath had suffered the worst of the blast. Any historical relics that had been housed there were nothing more than ash.

A devastating loss for history, to be sure. But Charlie was preoccupied with the other discovery her secondary team had made. For the third time that hour, she double clicked on the file that held the first on-site photographs and looked at the charred, skeletal remains spread across the floor.

Was one of them Dean? Sam? Eileen? Or were they persons unknown?

The remains could only be identified by their teeth, the fire destroying any other identifying features. The results would take time and each passing hour without contact from her team was setting Charlie Bradbury further on edge.

She had already ordered every possible avenue of investigation. Witnesses were being rounded up. Security cameras within a mile of the cathedral and satellites were being checked. The safe house in Lyon had been untouched. Nobody had entered or left it within the last twenty-four hours. And yet the most damning evidence of all was the silence. The first missed check-in was regular. Sometimes it wasn’t always possible to meet a pre-designated time. But to miss three was unheard of.

Despite her attempts to maintain optimism and trust in the resourcefulness of her team, Charlie couldn’t help but fear the worst. She looked down at the bobblehead Hermione figurine on her desk.

What would Hermione do?

She waved at the doorway as Kevin Tran appeared. She hadn’t even bothered to shut the door, wanting to receive any intel the second it was available. She was grateful to see Kevin, even though he looked like he was only moments away from giving into exhaustion. He’d stuck by her side all night, helping coordinate the investigation and refusing to go home. Charlie appreciated his loyalty.

His hair was sticking up at all angles, as if he’d ran his hands through it. Not good news then.

“Still nothing. No hits on any of their known aliases at any airport, train station and international bus terminal in Lyon.”

“What about any of the surrounding countries? Spain, Italy, Germany?”

“Nothing there either. But the EU has free movement. There are a million ways they could have gotten out of France, and you know they have false identities that even we don’t know about. There’s still hope.”

Charlie sighed. “Anything from the Vatican?”

Sadly, Kevin shook his head. “I checked in ten minutes ago with our contact in Vatican City. They haven’t heard anything from Jack or Claire.”

A shrill ringing sound from Charlie’s laptop interrupted any further questions between them. Charlie held up her hand for Kevin to wait as she accepted the incoming call, turning her attention to the plasma screens on the wall. A crystal-clear picture of Chuck Shurley appeared in the centre screen.

Chuck was at his office, as always, but there were signs of great stress that Charlie could pinpoint without too much effort. His jacket had been discarded, his sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons of his shirt were unfastened. There was no tie.

“I got your request.”

Charlie straightened up, hopeful even in the face of a long shot. Kevin looked uncomfortable at lurking during a meeting of his superiors, but she again waved for him to stay. There was nothing in her request that Kevin couldn’t be privy to.

Chuck looked apologetic, and Charlie knew she was about to be denied even before he spoke. “I can’t give you what you’re asking for.”

Deflating, Charlie sank back into her chair. She’d expected it, but nonetheless she had asked for an emergency dispensation to go to Lyon herself and head up the investigation. This was her team and she should be there to make sure the investigation was thorough. She’d always had a keen eye for fieldwork and nobody knew that better than Chuck Shurley.

“Kevin can oversee things here. I can stay in constant communication with command.”

Exasperated, Chuck ran a hand through his hair. “Charlie, you _are_ command. You’re no longer a field operative. You knew that when you agreed to take this job.”

Charlie tried to hide the flicker of pain but couldn’t quite manage it.

Chuck softened. “I know how you feel. You’re forgetting that when you were out in the field, I sat where you are now, waiting to hear from you. Do you remember your last operation, with Rowena? I thought you were dead, and I wanted nothing more than to get out into the field and look for you. But this is the role we play, this is one of the hardships that comes with our job as leaders.”

Staring down at her desk, Charlie spent a moment wondering what it had been like for her boss during the fiasco of her last field operation. She’d never realised how hard it was to be left behind. She stared down at the paperwork that cluttered her desk and fought the urge to sweep it all to the floor in the final, burning truth that this was the end for her. From now until the end of her career, she would be nothing more than a paper-pusher. An ache had settled itself in her chest, a yearning for something she didn’t even realise she missed.

“The only way to get through this is to trust your agents. You picked Commander Winchester to lead this team because you trusted him to handle whatever might be thrown at him, and the same for his support. Do you believe you made the right choice?”

Charlie didn’t hesitate. Dean and Sam Winchester were the best agents she had, and she knew Eileen Leahy could handle her own. If anyone could have survived what happened in that church, it was them.

She nodded.

“Then let them do what they need to do, the same way I let you. This is your responsibility, to be there to collect them when they need you. Not to run off to France.”

The next words were some of the most difficult that Charlie had ever had to utter. “I understand.”

Chuck smiled. “No, you don’t. But you will.”

Charlie recognised the truth in the words and sighed. “It was easier being out there.”

“Not always,” Chuck reminded her, and she knew he was thinking of Rowena. “Not by a long shot.”

 

 **04:18 PM** **  
** **VENICE, ITALY**

“It’s closed,” Sam frowned. “Is that normal?”

Dean had come to the same conclusion and was asking himself that very same question. They’d decided to take extra precautions this time, based on their last ambush, and so had settled themselves at the top of the clocktower in Piazza San Marco. It had been closed for structural renovation, but that hadn’t deterred the team. It worked quite well in their favour. The square had been filled with tourists when they first arrived but the crowd was slowly dwindling as the day went on.

Dean looked down at the magnificent basilica. It was grandiose, for sure. Domed and adorned in gold, and the arches on the front housed thick bronze doors. It was truly a sight to behold, even from up here. Dean was getting a better view, enhanced binoculars pressed to his eyes that allowed him to see inside the basilica. He couldn’t see anyone inside at all.

It made him nervous.

“I think it’s unusual,” Jack admitted. “But I told you I took that scroll from Cardinal Duma’s desk. No doubt he had already read it and knew about the existence of the other bones. He probably sent word to have them moved or for security to be tightened.”

It made sense. Dean accepted the reason reluctantly, not having a better one. Still, he found himself hyper aware of the strangeness of the situation. He wouldn't take any more risks where his team were concerned.

“Alright. Let’s head down there. But before we do, we need to check communications. Radio up.”

One of the benefits of working for DARPA was the immediate access to prototypes of technology that was miles beyond anything publicly available. The invention of the subvocal microphone was old hat, but ARTEMIS had refined it for use in the field. A small microphone, transparent and barely larger than a pinhead could be taped to the throat. Then, the simple act of moving one's lips would cause vibrations that the microphones would interpret as sound. This sound would then be transmitted to a small flesh coloured earpiece. This meant that speaking aloud had become a thing of the past. In dangerous situations where silence was key, these alone had saved lives.

The real challenge involved Eileen. Completely deaf in both ears, any sound transmitted would go unheard. Yet DARPA had not given up. With their innovation and access to the finest equipment in the world, they’d managed the impossible. A cochlear implant that could be synced up to the microphones. It had been tested in labs, but this was the first field application.

“Testing,” Dean subvocalised. “McQueen to Banshee, can you hear me?”

There was silence in response. Dean looked up with a disappointed frown that Eileen couldn’t hear him, but he found her wiping a tear from her eyes, completely overwhelmed.

“Yes,” Eileen choked, trying to control her volume and get a hold of herself. “Yes, I can hear you.”

Out of respect for his team mate, Dean pretended he couldn’t see her struggle. This was such a big deal for her. It wasn’t the same, the implant translating vibrations into sound. From what Dean knew of the current technology, it was heavy on the static and crackled, without the ability to distinguish between different voices. ARTEMIS labs had gone a step further and had taken away the robotic sounds, allowing for Eileen to distinguish clearly between voices. It still wasn’t perfect, but it was the closest to hearing outright that Eileen could get, and he understood why that would be emotional for her.

Dean led the way down the stairs of the clocktower, slipping out into the thinning crowd in the _piazza_ and making his way over to the basilica, the rest of the team following behind. The door was closed and the chances of it being locked were high. Dean glanced around, looking for an open window, a means of discreetly entering the building, but before he’d given more than a cursory glance, Claire solved the issue for him.

“ _Mi scusi,_  would you mind taking a photograph of us? My sister just got engaged!” She spoke to Dean as she gestured to Eileen excitedly. “Play along,” Claire added under her breath.

Eileen caught onto Claire’s plan much quicker than Sam did. Dean had to bite his lip hard to stop himself from doubling over in laughter at the look of shock on his brother’s face as Eileen pulled him down for a quick kiss on the cheek, wrapping her arms around him afterwards and giving him a squeeze.

“It would be my pleasure. How about we get a few?” Dean suggested, mirth evident in every syllable. “Let’s start with a few in front of those beautiful bronze doors.”

“Uh, sure… good idea, honey. We could use some pictures of this special day.” Sam recovered quickly.

Eileen laughed as she draped Sam’s arm over her shoulder, leaning in close. Sam followed her lead, having eventually worked out what was going on and happy to play the role assigned to him. As Claire, Eileen and Sam posed for their photographs, Jack discreetly slipped behind them, out of sight of the crowd completely.

Dean waited until Jack casually reappeared to stop taking the photographs, presenting his cell phone to Claire with a wink and a smile to complete the ruse.

“Sam and I will go inside, scout things out. Eileen, stay here with Claire and Jack.”

Jack shook his head, stepping forward. “I should go with you. They’re not just gonna hand over the bones to you. I have Vatican-issued identification that will make this go a lot smoother.”

Dean hesitated but recognised the logic. “Stay behind us, then.”

Eileen was content to stay at the doors, but Claire didn’t look impressed, no doubt relating this to the earlier issue of her staying behind. Dean wanted to let her know that this was a tactical move but didn’t know how to express that in a way that would abate her anger, so he said nothing. It was his call, and he only trusted Sam to have his back without fail. Claire would just have to deal with it.

Cracking open the door, Dean slipped through first with Sam at his heels. It was dark inside the foyer, and cool. There was no sign of anything amiss, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He neglected to voice this to the others, because instinct or intuition - while valuable - were useless in this situation. They were already on their guard. Nothing else could be done.

Jack let the door close gently behind him, sticking close to Sam and Dean but following their orders to stay behind them. Dean moved to the internal doors, ones that separated the nave from the foyer. Pressing his ear to them, he listened closely. Nothing. Tentatively, he pushed the left door with the matching hand. His Glock was in the other.

It was much brighter inside, natural light from the windows making everything glow in an almost ethereal golden light. Dean cast his gaze upwards, from the floor to the ceiling high above. Art decorated the walls, prominent figures that Dean wasn’t able to recognise adorned the inside of the dome and the walls. There were statues everywhere, extravagant decorations that Dean had come to expect from the inside of a church. Especially one as famous as St. Mark’s.

There was no movement anywhere inside the church. No sign of staff, of priests. Somehow, even though it was closed for the day, Dean didn’t think that was right. A side glance at his brother saw Sam freeing the scattergun from its straps. Sam clearly didn’t think so either.

“Where would they keep the bones?” Sam asked, under his breath.

“Off to the left side of the church. That’s where the offices and apartments usually are, if the relics have been moved from public viewing.” Jack replied quietly. He raised a finger to point in the direction he was talking about.

As Dean as Sam followed his gaze, the door in question opened.

Dean dropped to one knee, his gun pointing at the doorway. Sam and Jack disappeared behind pillars, but Dean remained out in the open, only covered by the benches. A figure emerged, oblivious to the intruders. He was dressed all in black, but there was no mistaking the stark white clerical collar. A priest, then.

Dean waited for a beat to see if anyone would follow, only rising to his feet when nobody else appeared. The priest froze when he saw Dean, arm-half raised in confusion from where he’d been about to begin lighting the candles. Something was wrong here. Why was the church was lighting candles and preparing to open to the public once again? Why were they no longer in fear of the bones being taken?

Behind Dean, Jack stepped forward, showing his Vatican ID. “ _Padre_ , I am Jack Kline. I am here to ensure the safe delivery of the reliquaries to Vatican City.”

The priest shook his head, eyes flickering from Jack to Dean’s gun and back again. He was clearly nervous. “The bones were collected early this morning. A man… British in his accent. He had the right identification, carried papers with His Holiness’ official seal. He took the bones.”

Jack and Dean exchanged a look of distress and resignation. The Demon Court had been one step ahead yet again. Instead of striking St. Mark’s, they had slipped in and out with fake identification and stolen the bones right out from under their noses. This seemed too subtle for the Demon Court’s methods. Dean knew without a shred of doubt that this discretion had been the suggestion of the Men of Letters agent.

“Damn it,” Sam swore, immediately apologising at the look of disapproval from both Jack and the priest. Dean would have smirked if he had the capacity to feel anything other than failure in that moment. This was his fault. He should never have allowed them to stop for food, and he should have flown here directly from Lyon. If he’d checked in with ARTEMIS, things might have been different. They might have beaten the Demon Court here.

Director Bradbury had picked the wrong team leader. Every decision Dean had made so far had resulted in failure.

Dean’s earpiece flared to life. “ _We’re coming in, Commander._ ”

Claire must have heard enough of the conversation to realise there was no point waiting outside. The danger had been and gone, leaving them twiddling their thumbs uselessly. They no longer had anything to go on, no leads at all.

“So the bones are gone?” Claire asked as she joined them.

The priest nodded. “Lieutenant Kline, if you would like to see the paperwork, I have it in the safe. Perhaps that would help?”

It was the best lead they had, so Dean waved for him to go. “Claire, go with him. See if you can get any fingerprints from them. They may have been careless. There’s no way that seal is legit, so see if you can find out how they got an official Papal seal.”

As Claire and Jack followed the priest across the nave, Dean strode over to the altar.

“What now?” Sam asked.

“We still have the blood we collected from the reliquary in Lyon. They took the bones from here, but they may have left the reliquary again. If we can get more blood powder from the inside and then regroup in Vatican City, we can test it more thoroughly.”

Dean found the golden reliquary behind the altar, exactly where he expected to find it. Kneeling, he eased the lid open, wanting to check the insides thoroughly. There was no dust, but there was something else. A silver chain, with a pendant attached to the end. Dean frowned as he lifted the necklace up to eye level.

A twisted disc. Where had he seen that before?

The moment he realised, Dean recoiled.

A warning left by the Men of Letters agent. The only way he could find to warn them. But warn them of what? They already knew the bones had been taken.

Dean found his feet, suddenly realising what the warning was for.


	7. Miracles and Murder

**APRIL 24TH, 04:34 PM** **  
** **VENICE, ITALY**

Once they’d passed through into the sacristy, Jack was trying to work out what it had been that made him so uneasy. He’d been fine at the start of the conversation with the priest, but something was niggling at him. He couldn’t place what it was. Wracking his brains, it came to him at the same time as he heard the lock click behind him.

“You called me Lieutenant Kline,” he whirled around to see the priest pointing a gun at his chest. “My rank isn’t printed on my ID.”

The priest gave a slight smirk and a half-shrug. His eyes were dark and cruel, his gaze harder than the metal of the weapon he wielded. “It still took you too long to figure it out. Don’t move.”

Assuming that also meant his mouth so he couldn’t warn the others, Jack slowly raised his hands, casting his gaze around the room for anything that he could use to get them out of his situation. But he sensed they’d been lucky to find that sword in Lyon. Catholic churches seldom had anything that could be used as a weapon. There was a table full of chalices for Mass. A silver crucifix for leading a processional. Nothing else.

The door ahead of them opened and he heard Claire’s intake of breath beside him. Even so, he would have recognised the man before him from the photographs they’d taken in Lyon. The British man. The leader. The only difference was the large plaster that taped his nose down. Jack burned with pride for his sister, knowing she had inflicted that on their captor back in Lyon.

The British man carried a long, sharp knife in one hand, slick with blood, which he set back into a sheath without even bothering to wipe it clean. His other hand plucked a radio from his belt and he held it to his lips but didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he chose to survey his captives.

Jack stared back at him with unconcealed horror. All that blood. Where had it came from? He thought of the missing priests and his stomach churned with dread.

“So you both survived then,” the man spoke up, his gaze sweeping over them both with disinterest. “How fortuitous. I was just running out of playthings. Clear the church.”

The last words were spoken into the radio and Jack felt his heart plummet. The others wouldn’t be expecting an ambush. He should have warned them, given them a heads up. If he’d been alone, that’s exactly what Jack would have done. But Claire was right beside him and he was too conscious of that fact. If he moved to trigger his throat microphone, Claire could pay for his boldness. Thus, he did nothing and hoped that Eileen and the others would be able to hold their own.

Echoes from the slamming of doors in the nave made Jack’s head bow. He waited to hear shouts, gunshots. The death of his friend and her colleagues. But nothing came. All he heard was the furious sound of boots on stone and marble. Searching.

Their captor’s eyes narrowed. “Report.”

Jack didn’t hear the reply, but he could tell by the darkening of the man’s face that the news was not good.

“Watch them,” he ordered the fake priest. “If either of them so much as twitch, put a bullet in the Lieutenant.”

The British man unlocked the door to the nave, and threw it open, his face clouded with thunder. Immediately, two men came over to meet him. The first was a regular lackey. Someone of no rank. The second was a man who Jack recognised as the man Dean had earlier identified as Halo, his nickname for the agent from the Men of Letters.

“Nobody else is here,” the gunman reported.

“Idiot,” the Brit hissed. “They were all here. All of them. How can you miss three people?”

“They might have found an open window. You heard Alastair, he slipped up with the rank. ARTEMIS is as smart as it is slippery.” The Men of Letters agent shrugged.

At the reminder of his slip, the priest scowled, turning away from Jack and Claire to object. Jack saw his opportunity and he took it. He swung his foot up, firmly planting it in the man’s solar plexus, before plucking the gun out of his hand.

He fired wildly behind them as he stumbled for the door, taking the only exit they had. Further away from where the others had last been seen, but at least this time they had radios. Casting a half-glance over his shoulder to make sure Claire was following, he waited until she’d cleared the doorway before he slammed the door closed. There was nothing like the longsword in Lyon to jam this one so he dragged the nearest object to block it, a heavy bookcase that took all Jack’s strength to slide across the marble floor.

The door rattled, and a loud crash made the bookshelf wobble. They were trying to break through. Jack grabbed Claire’s hand and ran. It wouldn’t hold for long, they needed to find another way out. They weaved their way through various hallways, twisting and turning. With no concept of the layout of the basilica, one way was no better or worse than another.

They burst through an open doorway and Jack stopped dead at the sight within, fighting the urge to bring up the remains of his lunch. He had no idea what the purpose of the room had been in the past. He doubted it would ever be used again. It was hard to find a spot on the floor that wasn’t covered in blood. Bodies littered the area, clad in priest-garb. Separated limbs and body parts littered the floor, and the smell of burned flesh was unmistakable.

Everyone in this room had been tortured to death.

A muffled sob from the corner drew Jack’s attention and he lowered his confiscated weapon. Not everyone. Tied up and gagged in the corner, stripped to his undergarments, was an old man. Blood dribbled from his mouth, and he was missing three fingers on his left hand.

Jack stepped into the room, with no thought of their pursuers. All he knew was that he couldn’t walk away from this poor man in all good conscience. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left him to suffer more at the hands of the Court. He freed him quickly, cutting through the ropes and removing the gag.

“You’re safe now,” he soothed, helping him to his feet. There was nothing in the room in the way of clothing that he could offer the man, so Jack shed his own jacket, wrapping it around him. It served to warm him and fend off shock, but also preserved what little dignity he had left.

“ _Grazie_ ,” the man wept. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to see kindness again before the end. It broke Jack’s heart. He was distantly aware of Claire barricading the door, and the calming sound of her voice as she used the cell phone she’d gotten from Dean earlier to call for an immediately medical and military response to the basilica. He caught the words ‘Carabinieri’ and ‘terrorism’ and relief flooded his chest.

She was calling in the cavalry.

 

 **04:41 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

Footsteps approached, and Dean held his breath. He stayed perfect still, knowing even the slightest movement could betray his hiding place. Beside him, Sam and Eileen were also still, none of them daring to move.

The footsteps stopped nearby, and the British man spoke. Dean recognised his voice instantly and strained to hear what was being said. They might give away some valuable information. “The _Venezia_ authorities have been alerted to our presence here. Commander Winchester must have called the police when he escaped.”

There was no reply, but Dean knew he had heard more than one set of footsteps approach. He didn’t dare sneak a peek to make sure, though. The knowledge that the police had been called was reassuring, even though he hadn’t been the one to call them. Hopefully that meant the Demon Court would leave, giving them a chance to exit the church.

“Castiel, did you hear me?”

A disinterested reply came, and Dean felt something triumphant and vicious spark in his chest. It was the Men of Letters agent, and now Dean knew his name.

 _Castiel_.

A name was valuable. It meant that as soon as he was able to get in touch with ARTEMIS, he was a step closer to identifying the agent. Dean had found people with less information than a name and a face, and no matter how clever the Men of Letters thought they were, ARTEMIS was smarter.

“They must have found an open window or smelled the trap and got out the way they came in. Commander Winchester is as shrewd as he is lethal. He must have realised something was off. We got what we came here for. We should be gone before the police arrive.”

“But the bitch who broke my nose…”

“You’ll have your opportunity to deal with her later, your orders were not to harm her. Your priorities are changing, Crowley. You’re putting revenge over duty.”

Crowley scowled. “My duty comes first. I haven’t forgotten my place. Make sure you don’t forget yours.”

They walked off and Dean could no longer make out any words. After a long moment, Dean risked emerging from his hiding place, sliding from the rafters and dropping silently to the floor, immediately ducking behind a pillar. St. Mark’s had stairs leading up to a raised platform on each side of the pews. To support the extra weight, wide support beams criss-crossed underneath.

It had been a tight squeeze, but after Dean had realised the truth, it had been the only place he could think to hide. They’d only had a matter of seconds and they almost hadn’t made it.

A door slammed on the other side of the church and then everything fell silent. He stayed where he was for another minute, just waiting to see if this was a ruse to lure them out. Finally, he touched his finger to his throat microphone.

“All clear.”

Sam dropped to the floor, rolling his neck and shoulders. It really had been a tight squeeze for him. “I vote we never do that again.”

Eileen slid down from the rafters, moving with an almost feline fluidity, and landed gracefully on the balls of her feet. “Did you hear what he said about Claire?”

Dean nodded. Eileen’s microphone must have picked up his words. Castiel had said that the opportunity to deal with Claire would come. Which meant she had escaped. Jack too, because she would never have left him behind. It was a small consolation, but it was the second time they’d managed to escape from the Demon Court without a single casualty. It restored some of the confidence he’d lost with his earlier failure. They might be one step behind, but they were an inconvenience the Demon Court couldn’t seem to get rid of.

A small piece of paper lying casually on the floor caught his attention. He was sure it hadn’t been there when they’d climbed up into the rafters. Warily, Dean knelt and picked it up, unfolding it. While he doubted it would contain the detailed plans of the Demon Court’s next moves, he was still surprised by the three words that were written neatly on the paper. The cursive was neat, the letters all looped in excellent penmanship, and Dean had no doubt in his mind who had written it.

_Nicely done, Commander._

“What’s that?” Sam asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Dean refolded the paper and shoved it deep into his pockets, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want anyone else to see the message, but he knew that he didn’t. “Nothing. Let’s find the others and get out of here.”

He headed across the nave, making his way towards the door that Claire and Jack had headed through, hailing them through their microphones fruitlessly.

The piece of paper burned in his pocket. Castiel had known where they were hiding, and he’d said nothing.

 

 **04:44 PM** **  
** **VENICE, ITALY**

Claire had been trying unsuccessfully to communicate with the rest of the team, but all she’d received in response was a crackling in her earpiece. Something in the basilica must be blocking the signal. Probably a device from the Demon Court, stopping the priests from calling for help. For now, they would just have to wait. When it was safe, the ARTEMIS team would find them. She hoped they’d come soon, she’d taken the gun Jack had ripped away from the guard earlier and was keeping it trained on the door, but it was their only protection and the magazine was half spent.

Behind them, the priest was drinking a glass of water, steadying himself so he could tell them exactly what happened. Once he’d learned that Jack was from the Vatican and had produced a legitimate ID, the priest had calmed down significantly.

“They came an hour ago. The paperwork they gave to Father Cole was - he recognised the seal as a forgery. He tried to stall for time, but they saw through it. They called in the rest of their men, including _il diavolo_.”

“The devil,” Jack translated, warily.

“ _Si_. The British man. The things he did, the satisfaction he received from the pain and anguish Father Cole went through… he must be an emissary of the devil himself. He knew we had taken the bones from the reliquary to the safe. He wanted the combination.”

Jack softened, sensing what was coming next. “He tortured him.”

The priest sobbed, lowering his head in despair. “He would not speak. They brought him to the edge of death and he said nothing. Then they told him they would cut off one of my fingers for every minute they didn’t have the combination. They made it to three before he told them. Then they killed him anyway. But they wanted to be sure, so they tortured us all one by one. I was the only one left when you arrived.”

They all looked over at the body on the table. Claire had covered it with a stole she’d found in one of the closets, out of respect. There’d only been one and the priest had refused it. Now Claire understood why. Guilt.

“What happened when we arrived?”

“They wanted to lure you in, catch you off guard. I was the only one not covered in blood, so they took my clothes.”

Claire felt her fists clench, a searing hatred within her for the Demon Court and their underhanded tactics. They’d already had the combination and could have been and gone long before Claire and the others had got there. Instead, they decided to stick around and try to eliminate them.

The priest rose to his feet unsteadily, walking over to the corpse of his former superior. He crossed himself, a silent prayer on his lips, before reaching under the stole and inside his robes and pulling out a small silver tin. It looked like a snuff box. Trembling hands tried to open the box but couldn’t quite manage the catch. Instead, he just handed the box to Jack.

“The news to move the bones came directly from the Holy See, who should have been tied up with the atrocities in Lyon. Father Cole believed they were connected, and he wanted to make sure not all the relics were lost. He kept one aside, for the church.”

Jack and Claire exchanged a glance. Even a small piece of bone should be enough. It was more than they’d had before, and it put them back in the running. All they needed to do now was get out of the basilica alive and they would be ready to take the next step.

A loud blast echoed distantly and everyone jumped. The priest fell to his knees, crossing himself and praying for salvation. Jack and Claire stayed upright, their respective weapons pointed at the door, but the realisation hit them both at the same time.

“Sam’s shotgun,” Jack breathed. They were safe.

Claire opened the door to their room, hurrying out. The second she stepped over the threshold, her earpiece flared to life and she could hear Dean calling out to them.

“We’re here,” she replied, relieved. “I’m coming.”

Backtracking along the hallway was difficult, but she roughly remembered the zig-zag turns they’d taken on the way here. Eventually, she reached the doorway Jack had dragged the bookcase in front of, only to find a hole the size of a soccer ball blown through both the door and the oak case.  Sam’s sheepish face was looking back at her through the gap.

“You’re gonna owe the Vatican _so_ much money for that,” Claire grinned, putting her shoulder against the bookshelf and forcing it to one side with tremendous effort. She wouldn’t have managed it alone, but with Sam aiding her, they made short work of it.

She quickly filled the ARTEMIS team in on what had happened and the lucky break they’d had regarding the bones. In return, Dean told her everything they’d discovered, which amounted to little more than two names. But it was two names more than they’d had earlier that day. Maybe once they’d returned to the Vatican, Dean would be able to find out more about them.

The distant sound of sirens caught their attention, just as Jack and the priest rounded the corner. Jack was wearing his jacket once again and the priest had recovered some robes from somewhere. He seemed to be drawing strength from the clothing, though he still looked pained and was in dire need of medical attention.

“Father Rudy is going to tell the authorities what happened, but he’ll neglect to mention our presence and the existence of the item we have. We should make haste, get to Vatican City as soon as possible.” Jack told them. “Eileen, can I have a container for the bone?”

When it was safely secured away in the sealed container Eileen had given him, Jack returned the snuff box to the priest, pressing it into his uninjured hand gently. Claire knew her brother well enough to know what he was thinking. It wasn’t his to offer to the young priest, but he knew that Father Cole had cared enough for him to try and spare his torture. He’d want Father Rudy to have it.

Tears filled Father Rudy’s eyes and he nodded, not having the words to speak, or even to thank them for what they’d done for him.

Claire reached out to squeeze his shoulder gently as he led them down the hallway towards a side exit.

They were gone before the first responders breached the basilica.

 

 **05:27 PM** **  
** **SOMEWHERE IN ITALY**

Eileen followed Claire to the bathroom across from their compartment. Dean had made the decision that the five-and-a-half-hour drive from Venice to Rome was too long. The Demon Court had too much of a head start. So they were taking the train. The _Frecciarossa_ was a high-speed train that travelled from Venice to Rome at almost 200 miles per hour. It would get them back into the city in a little over two hours. Flying would have been faster but trying to get their weapons onto a commercial flight without ARTEMIS smoothing the way wasn’t possible.

Dean had also made the rule that nobody was allowed to leave the group by themselves. Eileen wasn’t sure if he was just being careful or if he legitimately expected the Demon Court to burst into their compartment. Either way, she waited outside the bathroom while Claire had a moment to herself. She couldn’t begrudge her for it. Jack had described what they had seen in that room, the way that Crowley had tortured the priests. It would be enough to shake anyone.

When Claire left the bathroom, Eileen made to head back to their compartment, but a hand on her arm stopped her from going any further.

“Do you mind if we take a minute? Just a minute,” Claire added hastily. “I know you want to get back, but I just need…”

Eileen nodded, reluctantly. “I understand. Sam and Dean are very focused on their mission. I think they forget sometimes that not everyone can deal with their issues later, the way they do.”

Claire looked like she agreed but didn’t want to say so. “It’s not just that, though. Jack is my brother, but in all the years we grew up together, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s just like Sam and Dean. How could I have missed all that every time we had dinner together?”

“He’s a good man,” Eileen told her, strongly. “You didn’t see it because that’s not all we are. We do what we must, to get the job done. Then we go home. You’re not so different either. Everything you did to survive over the last few days, are you like that with Kaia?”

Eileen watched as Claire thought about that for a long moment. She’d seen some of it herself, every bit of pain or terror or stress she’d felt, she’d pushed it to one side in order to get things done. But the woman that had headbutted Crowley in Lyon wasn’t the same person who had embraced Kaia at the restaurant hours before. There was a softness to that Claire that Eileen hadn’t found in herself for a long time.

“You’re right,” Claire said eventually. “I’d never thought about it before. How do you keep the separation between work and home? Doesn’t keeping all of this a secret make it hard to have a personal life?”

Eileen sighed, taking a while to reply. “It’s hard and invasive. We had some issues with security a while back and since then romantic interests need to be thoroughly investigated. Even if they pass, we can’t tell them anything about what we do. We need to be able to drop everything and go on a mission at any time. I can’t speak for Sam and Dean, but I find it easier to just remain unattached. Friendships and allies are the best we can hope for.”

She wasn’t sure what expression was on her face, but it was raw enough that Claire decided to let the matter drop. Eileen pushed her pain away as she led the way back to their compartment. They’d booked two, one for sleeping and one where they could run their tests. Right now, nobody was sleeping. They all wanted to know more about the bones they had all been risking their life for. Sliding open the door, Eileen took her place next to her teammates silently. Claire’s questions had been harmless, born out of curiosity, but it only served as a reminder to Eileen of how lonely her profession could be.

Turning her focus to Sam, who had already started his tests on the relic, Eileen found herself seeing a whole new side of her teammate. He was meticulous in the way he moved, his hands steady and his gaze intense and focused as he ground a small part of the bone into powder. She had seen the soldier side of the younger Winchester already, but here was the scientist. Her hands twitched in her lap, almost as if she was fighting the urge to guide his chin up, to experience what it would be like with that intensity focused on her.

The memory of his arms around her waist, saving her from falling still left a phantom feeling of security inside her. Eileen remembered the way his arms had lingered, staying around her just a beat longer than was necessary.

She flushed, feeling heat rise within her breast. This line of thinking was unacceptable, and Eileen had no idea where it had come from. While this was her first time working with Sam and Dean, she wasn’t a stranger to them or their reputation. They’d been on site at ARTEMIS HQ together many times, sharing labs, using the gym, even waiting for medical together. She’d never spoken to Dean before, but she and Sam had shared a few polite conversations.

Not once had she noted his attractiveness as anything other than a basic fact about him, the same way she knew he was tall, or that he had brown hair.

The conversation with Claire had made her all too aware of her own loneliness and now she was projecting that towards Sam.

Sam finished grinding the powder and set some carefully on top of the microscales Dean had set out for him. The display still read zero. He leaned forward and, with the utmost care, tapped his finger against the scales with no more pressure than as if he was turning the page of a treasured book. The display jumped up, resetting as soon as Sam’s finger moved away.

“Weightless. Not registering on the scales.” Dean murmured. “You were right, Jack. It looks like the bones aren’t actually made of bone. They’re made of the blood powder.”

Jack nodded his agreement, but Eileen could tell Dean still wasn’t convinced, not completely. He believed it, most certainly, but the scientist in him still wanted to run more tests to be sure.

“Eileen, do you have any more blood in your pack?” Sam spoke up, without looking away from the powder he had just ground.

Clearing her throat, Eileen nodded. “Somewhere. I used up the first vial, but I have three more with me.”

She pulled her pack down from where it had been hanging, fishing through it for the second vial of blood. Using the eyedropper, she followed Sam’s directions to add a single drop to the powder he had ground up.

Nothing happened.

Dean frowned. Sam looked confused. Everyone else seemed a little disappointed. Were these relics fake? Had their theory that the blood powder was from the bone been disproved?

“That’s not possible,” Dean muttered. “We checked the bones against every test ARTEMIS did the first time. It isn’t showing up on the scales, you can’t say that about many minerals. It _has_ to be the blood powder. It must be something to do with the blood you just used.”

Sam leaned forward. “Are they the same blood group? I’ve been thinking about how not everyone in the cathedral was affected by the mutagen. I wonder if it comes down to blood type?”

Eileen shook her head. “They’re both O negative, I made sure of it. You told me to bring O negative because it was the most universal for donors. They’re the only ones I have.”

“I wonder... could it be that the mutagen isn’t actually a mutagen? Maybe some kind of bacteria or virus that has built up a rapid immunity to the blood we’re using?” Dean mused.

Sam shook his head firmly. “We’ve had it under a microscope, Dean. If it were bacterial, we’d have seen some sign of it. It’s just a chemical mutagen, and it’s harmless until it reacts with the blood.”

Gone were the earlier signs of exhaustion. Now that they all had a puzzle to ponder, a problem to solve, they were all alert and focused. There was very little information to go on and Eileen agreed with the unspoken decision that the key to solving all of this was to learn more about the blood powder.

“I have a hypothesis for you. Not a scientific one, though. More from a religious perspective. We discussed this previously.” Jack spoke up, nodding at Dean.

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it again, actually pondering Jack’s query. Eileen cleared her throat, tapping the table in front of her.

“Either of you care to fill the rest of us in?”

“Jack did some reading in the Vatican Archives and came up with the theory that Cain’s ‘pure’ bloodline continues through to modern day. That the Demon Court represents most of those pure descendants.” Dean filled in all the blanks, and Eileen listened with rapt attention.

“You think the powder is in some way genetically coded?” Eileen asked.

Sam cut in. “Hang on. Take it back a step. So if we accept this theory, how do the bones come into it? You think that we’re working with a dud piece? And it needs Cain’s bone specifically to react?”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not sure how the bones themselves factor in, or if they’re even bone, but I do think that I’m right about this. That the bloodline of Cain survived. My suggestion is that maybe the blood we’re using contains none of Cain’s original DNA. Maybe we found the one person in a billion who was descended purely from Seth, with their family’s bloodline never mixing with Cain’s.”

Eileen made the connection first. “You think the powder only reacts if the blood we’re using –”

“–contains Cain’s DNA, pure or otherwise.” Jack finished.

 

 **07:09 PM** **  
** **SOMEWHERE IN ITALY**

Dean worked silently, lost in thought. Jack’s contribution had left them all wondering if it was possible. From a scientific perspective, Dean knew it was. Viruses, chemicals, with modern technology it was possible to code any of them to specific DNA. In Biblical times, Dean was sceptical, but stranger things had happened. The technology that built the pyramids shouldn’t have been possible, and yet they stood.

It bore thinking about, rather than dismissing it out of any personal prejudices Dean had towards religion. So, he agreed to test it further and was setting about grinding a small amount of powder to fit into several test tubes. They would test out Eileen’s remaining blood supplies and then each of them had consented to give a small droplet of blood to see if the powder would react, if that failed by some bizarre turn of events.

While Dean worked, he considered the events in Venice and his second failure as team leader. A second failure was unforgivable. He understood why he’d slipped up in Lyon, they hadn’t taken enough care, they hadn’t anticipated an ambush. Nobody could have anticipated the firepower the Demon Court had with them.

He couldn’t forgive himself for the second ambush at St. Mark’s. They had gone into the basilica knowing there was trouble ahead. Every single part of him had been aware of the ambush. Intuition or instinct, whatever anyone called it, Dean had known something was off.

The fault lay at his own feet. He should never have stopped for food. He shouldn’t have listened to the cautions laid down for him from his team and taken so long scoping out the basilica. The time spent atop the clocktower could have saved precious lives, could have been spent infiltrating the basilica and recovering the bones before the Demon Court even got there. Instead, they’d been spotted, and they’d walked right into a trap.

Listening to his team had not been the problem. Dean was in charge of making the decisions, and he had failed. Up until now, Dean was too conscious of his own faults as a field agent. Where he would normally be reckless, needing Sam to reign him in, he was being cautious. Perhaps that was a mistake. Hesitation was not his style and it was clearly impeding his ability to be the leader ARTEMIS needed him to be. There was a balance, and he had not achieved it.

He couldn’t fail this mission. It wasn’t an option.

Leaning back in his seat, Dean placed the three quarters of the bone he had managed to preserve into its container. Six vials were spread out in front of him, each containing a small amount of powder, ready to begin the tests. Sam and Claire were asleep, heads pressed against the window, but Jack and Eileen were alert and watching his every move.

There was no big moment of revelation. The second vial of blood caused the reaction they were anticipating. It seemed as though none of them had needed to donate any blood. Dean nudged his brother awake, seeing how cramped and squashed he looked. It looked like Jack was right again.

“What does that mean for the secondary device? We still don’t know where that comes into it.” Sam yawned, rubbing his eyes blearily. “The one that broke open the vault door and caused the mutagen to become active.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Well,” he sighed. “We’re not going to figure that out tonight. We’ve got about an hour left. Go catch a nap in the next room.”

Sam yawned again, standing up and stretching himself out. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at Dean. “You know, a thought just occurred. Maybe they’re not Cain’s bones after all. They’re not old enough to be from the Creation of Man, let’s be realistic here. So maybe they were called that because of the effect they have. Murderous, bloody intent. It made the people at the church mutate into something primal, where they had no qualms about ripping into their friends and colleagues with their own teeth. Maybe they’re made from something that caused Cain to kill his brother in cold blood. A mutagen from something that dates back to biblical days. Or maybe someone just liked the metaphor.”

Everyone stared at him, even Claire who had been blinking sleepily moments before.

Sam shrugged. “Just a thought. I’m half-asleep, what do I know?” He closed the door behind him.

“I think Sam might have a point,” Jack spoke up, after a moment of them all considering Sam’s words.

Claire stretched out, sitting up properly in her seat. Dean spared her a glance, checking her state of mind after the horrors she’d seen at the basilica. Jack had told him privately that the sight hadn’t been pretty, and Dean wanted to make sure his team were able to carry on as normal.

“What do you mean?”

“Whether you buy into the idea that Cain could have been dosed with something that caused his bloodlust, which I do, or whether you think the bones were created as a metaphor at a much later date, there’s no denying that they’ve appeared at critical points in history.”

Dean was intrigued, setting down his equipment and turning to give Jack his full attention. The lieutenant had showed his intelligence already, Dean was impressed enough that he was willing to entertain any theories Jack might have. Even his tendency to look for answers in religion over science wasn’t enough to perturb Dean. They all had their own methods.

“What makes you believe without a doubt that Cain was dosed with something? Sin existed from the moment Eve ate the apple, if you believe the Bible. He was more than capable of murder.”

“Absolutely,” Jack agreed. “But what we’ve hypothesised is that the powder is genetically coded. That didn’t happen naturally. I think I can prove that the mutagen dates back to the days of Genesis.”

Dean’s distaste for religion burned strong within him. Faith had never gotten him anywhere. But he would be remiss not to hear what Jack had to say. He waved for him to continue.

“There was a tomb recently opened in Egypt, did you hear about it? In Saqqara,” Jack looked around the compartment.

Claire nodded, tiredly. “Yes, of course. It’s just south of Cairo. They found a lot of mummified cats when the opened it, and they think it’s around six thousand years old.”

“That’s the one. They also found some hieroglyphs etched into the wall, speaking about one of their ancient deities, Resheph.”

Eileen sat up straighter in her chair and even Claire looked more alert. Dean wasn’t sure what he was missing, but Egyptian gods weren’t exactly his strong suit. His face must have betrayed his confusion, because Jack clarified.

“Resheph was the Canaanite god of pestilence. In particular, the hieroglyphs speak of his ability to strip away every shred of humanity from those he cursed with his signature disease. Sound familiar? The interesting part is when the hieroglyphs reveal that Resheph was the name the Pharaoh’s gave him. The slaves and underlings knew him by another name entirely. Croatoan.”

Dean blinked, letting the weight of that settle over him for a moment. “Croatoan. Like what was etched into the tree by the lost tribe of Roanoke?”

Jack nodded. “History has come up with countless explanations for what may have happened to the lost tribe. Maybe they did up and leave to move to a different island. But there’s also the chance they didn’t, that they were wiped out by a plague that decimated them.”

“No existence of a plague was ever found,” Dean argued. “That mutagen left bodies.”

“The Roanoke tribe weren’t the only people on that island. They could have been buried, burned, cast out to sea in order to preserve any survivors. I’m not saying I can prove the link to the Roanoke tribe without a doubt, but it _is_ possible. It comes back to the fact that six thousand years ago, the Egyptians sealed a tomb with information about a plague that fits the exact description of our mutagen. That’s undeniable. And that’s not all.”

Dean sighed. “Go on.”

“Do you know what Resheph means in Hebrew?” Without waiting for an answer, Jack continued. “It means ‘the Ravager’. I admit, it’s a bit of a stretch, but given the way those infected in Lyon _ravaged_ each other, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch.”

“So, what does all of this mean?” Eileen asked, frustrated. “I can see the leaps you’re making and they’re the best we have to go on right now. But this doesn’t help us move forward at all.”

Jack held up his finger for her to wait. Dean was feeling her frustration, but he held his tongue. Clearly Jack had a point to make, he was just taking his time getting there.

“The tomb that was opened in Saqqar contained dozens of mummified cats and hundreds of wooden statues of cats.”

Claire let out a low whistle. “They must have been a very important person, to receive so many blessings.”

“They were,” Jack replied dryly. “The tomb is said to be of Resheph himself, transcended from his mortal body. Obviously, I question the veracity of that claim, but his epitaph talks about his ability to control his signature pestilence and cure it at the same time. Now if you add in the fact that this tomb is six thousand years old, around the time that the Bible claims the Creation of Man happened…”

He trailed off, but Dean finally understood what Jack was driving at and was able to finish his thought. “Then we just found out the origin of the blood powder.”

Jack nodded. “Exactly. I suspect that somewhere across history, an organisation outside of the Demon Court found out this information - or were guarding it the whole time - and recreated those bones, which were passed onto the Vatican as the bones of Cain.”

“And the Vatican never tested them?” Claire asked.

Jack shot his sister a disapproving look. “It takes special Papal dispensation for the Vatican to allow tests to be run on relics, and the circumstances to test the bones of Cain? The Holy See would never allow it. I can’t say I disagree. Catholicism relies heavily on faith and the world could use a little more of it, especially in these dark times.”

Claire fell silent, thoroughly chastised. Yet a second later, she spoke up again, a spark of realisation in her eyes that made her much more animated. Weariness and stress faded away, and there was the professor in her, ready to lecture to her students. Dean sat back to listen.

“So, an ancient organisation created the bones. No doubt that organisation has been around for a long time and studied the powder in order to create them. Then to what level have they unlocked the secrets held in that time? I keep thinking of that guard in Lyon, Frank? Who had stage four liver cancer.”

Eileen frowned. “What about him?”

“He was only days away from retirement and his medical notes were talking about preparing for the end, but his autopsy barely registered his tumours as stage two. We chalked it up to a misdiagnosis, but he was also one of the people that Jesse Cuevas pointed out as unaffected by the mutagen.”

“You think the _powder_ cured him?” Dean asked, taken aback.

“It’s as good a theory as any,” Claire defended herself. “Especially if this powder does date back to Biblical days. It might have been responsible for some of the miracles in the New Testament. Even so, I imagine it has some value other than death when triggered by an external device, or the Demon Court wouldn’t need it. It has some kind of valuable information attached to it. That’s what the Demon Court wants.”

Dean cast his eyes around the compartment, looking over the rest of his team. His gaze turned to Eileen first and foremost, although he found himself wishing his brother was here to weigh in. But Sam needed his rest and Dean couldn’t begrudge him that. “What do you think?”

“I think Claire has a valuable point. I think trying to find out information about this organisation will help us identify the motive of the Demon Court. We should follow in their footsteps.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m done following them. We need to get out in front of them if we want any chance of stopping them. Otherwise we’re always going to be one step too late.

“What do you suggest?” Jack asked, leaning forward.

Before Dean could reply, the overhead speaker crackled to life, announcing their arrival in Rome in fifteen minutes. He sighed a breath of relief. Fifteen minutes, and then they could head straight to Vatican City. They were in the home stretch and soon he’d be able to check in with ARTEMIS command.

Hopefully they’d have some information to share.

 

 **07:52 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Stepping out of the shadows, Castiel blended into the crowd seamlessly.

He was wearing a fitted navy suit with a cobalt blue tie, topped off with a tan trench coat that he favoured when he wasn’t anticipating trouble. The evening was cool, and he was trying to stay under the radar, which made it the perfect addition to his regular suits.

Castiel turned his head artfully to the right, almost as if he was admiring the beautiful pottery in the window beside him. But it passed him by with no appreciation at all. He simply knew where all the cameras were in this area and was taking good care to hide his face.

ARTEMIS would no doubt be on the lookout for him. After the events of Pine Bluff and then running into the team twice so swiftly, even if it was by design, he suspected that they would use every resource at their disposal to find him. No doubt at Commander Winchester’s order. Castiel could see the loathing in those pretty green eyes whenever their gaze had met. The same way he knew that the sky was blue, he knew that Commander Dean Winchester wanted nothing more than to kill him.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. Well, it wouldn’t do to make it easy for him.

He rounded the corner and turned to the right. In the distance, St. Peter’s basilica stood, tall and proud and imposing on the horizon. It loomed over the streets of Rome, its silhouette majestic in the twilight. The sun had set only a short time ago, but there was still a little light in the sky. The bustle of the city was all headed in that direction. The Pope himself would be attending a midnight candlelight vigil, speaking a few words at the massacre of the guards in Lyon and the later firebombing of the cathedral.

Castiel turned away, finding no interest in the basilica. It was just bricks and mortar, like any other building.

Vatican City was not his goal. Not yet. He had other plans first, meeting his contact from the Vatican. It had been decided that somewhere public and neutral would be for the best. To meet within the walls was risky. Too many walls had ears, and his contact required the utmost discretion. So, he would be travelling down the Passetto di Borgo, a tunnel between Vatican City and Castel Sant’Angelo used to evacuate previous Popes during times of unrest, like the schism.

They would meet at the Castel Sant’Angelo. Where this had all began.

Castel Sant’Angelo was almost as majestic as St. Peter’s where it stood against the skyline. Tall and round, like a drum, and overlooking the Tiber River, it truly was a sight to behold. As Castiel drew closer, he was able to make out the beautiful bronze statue of the archangel that adorned the top, wielding a fearsome sword.

His pace sped up as he crossed Ponte Sant’Angelo, the stone bridge lined by Bernini’s ten stone angels. There were tourists snapping pictures of them and taking selfies in front of them, but Castiel had no time to spend admiring their beauty, even if he’d had the inclination to do so. His goal was the restaurant on the middle floor, where he would meet his contact. But he had one other task to complete first.

If he was honest, he was quite looking forward to his part in future events. No doubt he’d have his opportunity to come face to face with Commander Winchester again. Despite them being on opposing factions, Castiel couldn’t suppress the respect he held for the man. He’d researched him thoroughly, all his missions in the SEALs, including the last one. The one that was stricken from any record, but the Men of Letters had a long reach.

No, his respect for Dean ran deep. Not many people could say they’d gone up against Castiel and survived. That was more than enough to earn Castiel’s respect on its own, but then there was the selflessness, the willingness to sacrifice his life for what was right. He truly did his duty for a noble reason, and that was the rarest thing of all. It would be a shame to kill Dean when it came to it, but orders were orders. He’d take no pleasure from the act. It was nothing personal.

As he reached the main staircase, Castiel checked his watch, the glint of silver matching his necklace. He was a little early, which suited him fine. He had a call to make.

Stepping to one side, he reached for his cell phone, activating the scrambler. He wouldn’t be caught due to a rookie mistake of forgetting to scramble his phone. If the recipient of the call tried to track him, they’d be sent on a wild goose chase. Castiel typed the number from memory, too suspicious and untrustworthy to ever write it down. Leaning against the wall, he pressed the phone to his ear.

The international connection caused a slight delay but when the call was answered, the words came brisk and with no hesitation whatsoever.

“ _Good afternoon, you’ve reached ARTEMIS command_.”


	8. Wendigo

**APRIL 24TH, 08:07 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

“What?” Dean demanded, his voice raised a little more than was probably respectful given that he was talking to his Director. He winced and adjusted his volume. “Sorry, I think I misheard.”

“You didn’t mishear anything. Castiel called the ARTEMIS switchboard fifteen minutes ago.” Charlie replied.

Upon Dean’s agreement, Claire had called General Milligan and asked for a Carabinieri escort to take the team to Vatican City. After contacting ARTEMIS, Dean had found out that the Carabinieri had been looped into their every move since Claire and Jack’s troubles leaving Italy. General Milligan was their liaison and would provide them any back up they needed while in Rome.

He’d broken his enforced silent and Director Bradbury herself had been the one to answer his call. Dean had debriefed her on the events of Lyon and Venice, but before he could broach the subject of their proposed next move, Charlie had dropped this bombshell on him.

“Why would he call you?” Dean asked, turning his attention towards Sam, who was trying and failing to look like he wasn’t listening. “I need a pen.”

“He has no interest in furthering the Demon Court’s end. He simply wants to ensure that his own agenda is met, whichever side that involves allying himself with. Castiel is playing a long game here and not even trying to hide it. Either way, he passed along intel that he stole from the Demon Court’s main operative, a man named Crowley.”

Dean scowled, snatching the pen from Sam more aggressively than was intended. “Yeah, I’m familiar. Real douchebag.”

“I spoke to Castiel briefly – even found his picture in our database – but we have very little to go on where he’s concerned. He’s like a ghost. Crowley, on the other hand, we found a little more on. I’ll compile some information, and have it passed onto you at Vatican City.”

Dean murmured his agreement. Anything they could learn about who they were dealing with could only be a bonus.

“I don’t think Castiel was able to decipher the intel on his own,” Director Bradbury continued. “So it was passed to us, both to decipher it for him and to keep you in the race to whatever endgame the Demon Court has. I have to say, his level of manipulation is impressive. He’s no fool, and that’s clearly why the Men of Letters chose him to oversee this mission. A word of caution, Commander. He’s not to be trusted. He helped you in Lyon and Venice, but that means nothing. Sooner or later, Castiel will turn on you and attempt to even the score from Pine Bluff.”

Dean’s hand twitched as if to go to his pocket and squeeze the note Castiel had left him. The warning was unnecessary. He didn’t trust Castiel as far as he could throw him. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, Dean poised the pen, ready to write.

“Go ahead.”

Charlie read the message slowly, which Dean was grateful for. It was long and confusing, and he didn’t want to miss a single word.

“And it’s like a poem, with separate stanzas?”

“Exactly. I have codebreakers working on it here, we’ll let you know as soon as we find anything. In the meantime, you might want to check out what you can from the Vatican archives. That’s where Castiel said the information came from.”

Dean muttered his agreement. “I’ll see what we can make of it.”

“In the meantime, keep on your toes. Castiel is dangerous, probably more dangerous than the entire Demon Court.”

Dean didn’t disagree. He confirmed his next check-in time and signed off, sliding his phone away. Turning to his team, he beckoned them all closer.

“Castiel called ARTEMIS, with a mystery for us to solve. Whatever the Demon Court’s next steps are, he isn’t privy to the knowledge. So while they prepare, we have an opportunity to get out in front of them. He leaked a passage, something the Demon Court discovered two months ago in the Vatican archives.”

Jack made a sound of disgust and annoyance but didn’t interrupt.

Dean continued. “Whatever it means, Castiel believes it initiated the current operation.”

Jack stepped behind Dean, peering over his shoulder at the paper. He skimmed the words on the paper once for his own benefit, before reading the words aloud.

 

_When the sun burns fire below Egypt,_

_At the south-west of the new land_

_It begins._

_The tomb of the truest believer points the way._

_The map will be shown in waters of blood._

_It begins._

_Where it drowns, it takes its place with the buried Boy King._

_Down, down, down, to the eternal resting place of the Eldest son._

_It begins._

_The brother waits to ascend, below an angelic hand._

_He lingers, seeking family to show him the way._

_It begins._

 

“I hate riddles,” Sam muttered.

Eileen read through it again. “I don’t understand what this has to do with the blood powder. The eldest son mentioned must be Cain, which explains the Demon Court’s interest. I can only assume this riddle was left by the alchemists organisation that created the bones and must have studied the properties of the blood powder for centuries, but how do the Demon Court know that?”

Jack glanced towards Vatican City. “The scholars may be able to help us. Father Ishim’s knowledge is unparalleled and Cardinal Duma wouldn’t hesitate to offer us all everything we need.”

Dean noticed Claire hadn’t spoken and watched her carefully. She was staring at the paper, clearly racking her brains. Something there looked familiar to her and she couldn’t quite place it. Dean waited, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts or push her. Whatever she knew, it would come to her.

When she straightened, Dean knew he’d made the right choice to let her think.

“What do you know?”

She looked at him, startled, as if she hadn’t realised he’d been paying attention to her thought process. “I’m not sure,” she relaxed a fraction. “It may be nothing, it’s just … have you heard of the Book of Life?”

Jack looked over at her, answering before Dean could. “It’s mentioned quite a few times in the Bible. References to it are quite heavy in the first five books of the Old Testament… and again in the Book of Revelations.”

He shot Claire a significant look but didn’t elaborate on it.

“Right. Well a few centuries ago it was rumoured that the Vatican had found the Book of Life, and it was secreted away to the archives. A few years ago, the Vatican confirmed that rumour and released a transcription of the book to the public. I’ve studied it intensely and its stanza like form. It’s written all in tercets, much like our riddle, and every third line is ‘it begins’.”

Sam stroked his chin thoughtfully. “But if this riddle is from the Book of Life, why are the Demon Court just acting on it now?”

“It’s not part of the book. As I said, I studied the whole thing once it was made public, and these passages aren’t part of it. They were just made to look as if they were part of the Book of Life.”

“Then where did they come from?” Eileen asked.

“I can’t answer that with absolute certainty but I do have an idea. Castiel said that the Demon Court got the clue from the Vatican archives. I suspect that the alchemists that created the bones placed a clue to their origins within the Book of Life.”

Sam and Jack both began to speak at the same time, but Jack stopped, gesturing for Sam to finish.

“Why would they want to place a clue to their whereabouts anywhere? And why there?”

Claire shrugged. “The same reason they made the bones? As part of a treasure trail. Such knowledge… they must have known that at some point, somebody would start seeking that knowledge and this is the way to get it. A test of worthiness, maybe?”

“I think Claire is right,” Jack mused. “I was just going to comment on how the Vatican have been too worried about the archives being destroyed the event of a fire or a terrorist attack. Over the last fifteen years there’s been a push to digitise all text. In any event, I believe I can add weight to Claire’s theory.”

“How?” Dean asked.

“As it happens, completely unrelated to this mission, I went to the archives a few weeks ago in search of the Book of Life. I wanted to attend a lecture on it and planned to read up first. The book was nowhere to be found. When I checked the logs, the book should have still been there. The chances of it being moved are possible, but I think it’s more likely that the book was stolen.”

Dean’s pulse quickened. “By the Demon Court?”

“Or someone they have employed to gain access to the Vatican.”

Dean nodded absently, thinking about their next move. “Someone in the Court must have been able to decipher at least part of the clue and act upon it. If we want to get ahead of them, this is how we do it. We need to solve the riddle.”

“Think about what you’re saying,” Sam sighed. “They’ve had it for months. How do you expect us to do it in a matter of hours?”

“It’s possible,” Claire spoke up. Dean hadn’t even realised she’d fallen silent again, but her eyes were fixed on the riddle in his hand with a telltale gleam. “Because I think I’ve already solved it.”

Dean gaped, but Claire didn’t speak immediately. She took the notepad from Dean and flipped to a blank page. “The first stanza describes a symbol that looks a little like this. Let me show you.”

On the blank page, she drew two basic shapes, a circle and a triangle. Yet her positioning of them had Dean’s eyes flickering back to the first stanza of the riddle and then back to the image.

“What do you see?”

 

 

“A Pythagorean snowman?” Dean muttered under his breath. “Am I meant to see more than just shapes?”

Despite Dean’s quips, Sam knew instantly what Claire was driving at. “The sun under the Great Pyramid. The sun burning beneath Egypt.”

“So, what does that symbol actually mean?” Dean asked, squinting at it now he knew its relevance to the riddle. “I assume you have a little more to go on?”

“ _Ancestral Puebloans_.” Claire announced, drawing confusion from around her. Jack was the only person who seemed to understand, peering at the paper and exhaling in awe.

He looked up at Dean. “Claire’s right. I know where we need to go.”

 

 **08:23 PM  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Claire wasn’t a huge fan of abandoning the Carabinieri, but she’d left a message with General Milligan. ARTEMIS had given their approval to keep him in the loop and would be reaching out so he’d probably understand that they were following a lead. They could have taken the provided cars to investigate the lead, but once again Dean had refused.

She couldn’t honestly say she’d blamed him. The sight of the tortured priest still burned behind her eyelids.

Instead, they’d sought out alternative transportation and had settled on a public bus. There was a full row of seats open, and Claire took a seat beside Sam. She’d considered taking a seat beside Eileen, but she still looked angry from a disagreement with Dean. She’d wanted a Vatican escort with them after the ambush at Lyon and then again at Venice. Dean had overruled her.

The bus shuddered to life as the engine was restarted, and it pulled away from the bus step, merging effortlessly into the traffic. Claire glanced over at Dean. Now they had a chance to gain the upper hand, the stress had almost melted away from him. He looked younger, years vanishing away from the creases at the corners of his eyes. His posture relaxed, and his green eyes shone with a determination that she recognised in all of them. They all needed to see this mission through for their own peace of mind.

“Okay,” Dean leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “I’ve taken you at your word that we need to detour from our original plan. Now, I need you to tell me what you know and what we’re looking for.”

Clearly, he didn’t like being kept in the dark, but it was already growing late, and their destination was already closed. It was going to be a matter of luck and using every resource at their disposal if they were going to get inside at all that evening. Otherwise it meant waiting until first light. Claire had no choice but to halt her explanation and get them onto the right bus. Now she had time to explain.

She reached for the notebook again, adding to the original drawing and holding it up so everyone could see it. “This shape isn’t complete. This is the completed symbol that I believe the first stanza is referring to.”

 

 

“It looks Anasazi,” Sam commented.

Claire looked at him in surprise. “You have a good eye. It _is_ Anasazi, otherwise known as the ancestral Puebloans. It’s a sigil of protection. But I wasn’t just talking about the people. There’s a painting in Castel Sant’Angelo, painted by an unknown artist in the Renaissance era. I’ve seen it many times, and I’ve taken Jack with me, because it’s one of my favourite artworks and the mystery of its origin has always fascinated me. The painting is called _Ancestral Puebloans_.”

Jack picked up the story as she paused for breath. “It’s quite a large painting and the display is prominent. It features two tribesmen, carving a symbol into a rock. The symbol they’re carving is the original symbol that Claire showed you, the unfinished circle and triangle. And the Ancestral Puebloans were originally from what are now the four corner states in the United States. Arizona, Colorado, Utah and New Mexico. _In the south-west of the new land._ ”

“But that symbol must appear in dozens of paintings?”

“Yes,” Jack admitted. “But I can’t name any that were unfinished, to feature only the sun and the Great Pyramid.”

Dean looked unconvinced, and she couldn’t really blame him for that. It was a bit of a stretch, but Claire felt like there was one more piece of information she should share with the group. She cleared her throat. “On the day we left for France, the curator at the _Galleria Borghese_ told me that Castel Sant’Angelo had been broken into the night before. All of the museums in the area were on high alert after that.”

“That does seem to confirm your lead,” Sam admitted. “But it seems like the Demon Court got there first again.”

Claire shook her head. She’d also thought about this, but she knew something else the others didn’t. “Not necessarily. I spoke to Kaia about it briefly at lunch today. She confirmed nothing was taken. They did a whole inventory, had experts in to determine authenticity of all the relics. Nothing had been switched out, replaced or was missing.”

“Then it seems they either didn’t find what they were looking for, or they couldn’t get the whole painting out of the building. Either way I feel like they wouldn’t have just left the clue there for us. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot we have. What time does Castel Sant’Angelo close to the public?” Dean asked, sitting up straight.

“About an hour ago,” Claire checked her watch. “Thankfully, as the curator’s girlfriend and a well-respected art historian, I have a little sway with the night guard. Hopefully he’ll let us in. Otherwise we’ll need Kaia to vouch for us.”

Jack hummed. “The layers just keep unravelling. The clue being buried within the Book of Life, which is as a contrast to the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Which is also written in stanzas. A reference to the powder found in an Egyptian tomb, the Roanoke colony… it’s all linked, and I just can’t put my finger on what it all means.”

“You and me both,” Dean told him. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Eileen sighed. “At least it’s not a church this time. I’m tired of getting shot at.”

 

 **08:37 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Sam sensed they were on the right track, at last. He knew Dean was unconvinced, but that was just the pressure clouding his judgement. There was too much riding on this for Dean.

The appointment as team leader had surprised his brother. But not Sam. He knew what Dean was capable of, knew his leadership qualities and the strengths that Dean quite often viewed as weaknesses. It was saddening, to see the pure brilliance in Dean that should radiate uninhibited, but was clouded by the darkness of their past. Dean had suffered the worst of it. Sometimes he looked at Sam like he expected him to just run away, leave him behind.

He never seemed to grasp that their past had only strengthened their bond. Dean didn’t seem to understand that Sam would follow his brother to the ends of the earth, whether he asked or not. Sam also knew Dean would never ask.

His role as team leader was only one of the factors that was putting pressure on Dean. Why they couldn’t fail. He didn’t want to let down Director Bradbury, who was the only reason they were here and not rotting in a jail cell. Spiralling into a pattern of self-destruction and emptiness was destined for them both, but Charlie had plucked them out of nothing and given them a purpose. Dean would do anything in his power not to let her down for that. They both would.

Then there was Castiel. An enigma, to be sure. Dean had gone toe-to-toe with many an adversary. Sometimes he’d won, sometimes he’d lost and barely managed to escape with his life. He’d never taken it this personally before. This agent sparked some kind of intensity in Dean. Something Sam had only seen in his brother once. If he was honest, it scared him. He knew Dean would never let this go. He’d hunt down Castiel to even the score no matter the cost.

Sam pushed his thoughts to one side as they reached their destination. Alighting the bus, Claire led the way, weaving through side streets and alleys without even being told to. She learned quickly, although Sam questioned how much of it was learned from them and how much of it was pure instinct. Dean had filled them in on how they’d escaped the cathedral in Lyon. For a civilian, she had remarkable strength, both physical and emotional. There was a story there, Sam was sure of it.

Finally, they rounded a corner and found themselves standing before the magnificent lofty structure of Castel Sant’Angelo. Round and tall, Sam found himself awestruck by its beauty. He imagined it would be even more impressive during the day, rather than lit up in a golden glow against the night sky.

“Wow,” Eileen breathed.

Sam glanced at her sideways and nodded. “It truly is beautiful. I’d love to know more about the history of it. I think the Borgias lived here once upon a time? I got that from a video game, so I’m not sure how accurate it is.”

“You play video games?” Eileen teased.

Sam gave a lopsided grin and shrugged. “I do more than just read, you know. I’ve got a whole range of hobbies.”

“I’m sure.” Eileen smiled at him.

Their banter mostly went unnoticed by the rest of the team. Dean was further ahead, deep in conversation with Claire. It seemed like he and Eileen had yet to resolve their earlier bickering about whether it would be better to have an escort or not, and they were giving each other the cold shoulder. Sam was steadfastly refusing to take sides. Tactically, he might have sided with Eileen, but after too many close calls, he understood Dean’s need for secrecy. Either way, Dean was in charge and Eileen would just have to deal with his decision.

He hung back as Eileen sped up, matching her strides to Jack’s. He watched the two of them talk and wondered exactly what their history was. They knew each other from before this mission, he’d gotten that from their initial briefing. Yet they talked like more than mere colleagues, as if they’d struck up a friendship somewhere. Was it really so easy to do that? Jack and Claire were likeable, but Sam couldn’t imagine going out for a drink with them or catching a movie.

Maybe Eileen was an anomaly. Claire seemed to have warmed to her too. She was blunt and honest and that was refreshing in Sam’s line of work. She walked into a room with her head held high, no excuses on her lips about her hearing impairment. Nor should she have excuses - Sam had just never found somebody who owned it the way Eileen did. He found her fascinating.

For her first time back in the field, she was performing admirably. Her deafness had little impact on their operation and her implant even negated that. She was a better field agent than most hearing-enabled agents Sam had worked with. He could see the begrudging admiration from Dean too, even despite their recent quarrel. He hadn’t refused to work with her, hadn’t asked ARTEMIS command to pull her out of the field even with the increased dangers. That spoke volumes to his opinion of her skill.

Sam knew he and Dean would have to write an evaluation on her progress and capabilities once the mission was over. He intended to recommend her for further field work and to request her as an addition to their team, if Dean was amenable to it. He trusted Eileen to have his back.

“Sacrifice is the last thing in the world we can give to our loved ones. To be left behind should mean celebrating their parting gift, not suffering from survivor’s guilt.”

Without meaning to, Sam had caught up to Jack and Eileen, overhearing the tail end of their conversation. It sounded like Jack was consoling her about a recent loss. Uncomfortable with his accidental prying, Sam stopped dead, dropping to one knee and adjusting the knife strap at his ankle. There were certain things that you didn’t do to your teammates and spying on them was top on the list.

Even in the darkness, Castel Sant’Angelo was beautiful. The bridge and walkway were brightly illuminated, casting the whole area in a golden-orange glow. The statue of the archangel Michael seated atop the castle was lit too, a silvery-white gleam to the usual bronze statue. It was truly a sight to behold. Sam turned his head as he started walking again, looking left to right at the angel statues. Maybe it was the eerie glow, but he thought they looked a little creepy.

The streets were more or less deserted at this time, as most of Rome’s attractions had closed for the day, and the Ponte Sant’Angelo was no different. There was the occasionally tourist or cyclist that passed, but in their civilian overclothes, nobody shot them a second glance. They looked just like every other tourist, and while it might be a little strange to be heading towards Castel Sant’Angelo after closing, it wasn’t completely unheard of.

Ahead lay the doors to their destination, and Sam caught up with the others just as they reached them.

“Commander, we should scout the area first. Make sure we’re alone.” Eileen spoke up, stiffly.

Dean shook his head. “They’ve already been here, it’s unlikely they’ll be back. They won’t even be expecting us to know about it. Just keep an eye out. We can’t afford any more delays.”

Sam repressed a pang of doubt at Dean’s words. He was listening but was unwilling to change his mind. He’d tried things the cautious way and now he was doing things his way. Sam understood his choices, but he wasn’t sure he agreed with them, not yet. Not when there was a civilian with them.

Dean nodded to Claire, jerking his head towards the doors for her to press forward. She did so, and raised her fist, beating it against the heavy door in a series of knocks.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“ _C'è qualcuno_?” A voice called, sharp and cold. Clearly the night watchman wasn’t taking any chances after the recent robbery.

“Ash? It’s Claire Novak. Kaia’s partner.” Claire called through the door. “Can you open the door?”

“ _Claire_?”

There was silence, and then the sounds of bolts being drawn back. The door cracked open an inch as the guard surveyed the scene, and then it inched open a little more.

“Is everything okay? Do you need me to call someone? Kaia isn’t here…” Ash looked around cautiously.

Claire smiled, placatingly. “I know,” she assured him. “She’s off visiting her father in Venice for a day or two. She said she’d let you know about my private tour?”

“Private tour?” Ash frowned.

Stepping forward, she leaned in closer to Ash and lowered her voice, but Sam was just about able to make out her words. “These are representatives of a wealthy investor from the United States. Kaia asked me to give them a tour and impress them. Didn’t she let you know?”

“No, _Professoressa_. She mentioned nothing.” Ash visibly hesitated and then a wide smile spread across his face. He pushed open the doors and beckoned them inside. The light from inside lit up his young face, fresh and eager to impress the spouse of his boss. “But I know Kaia and her terrible memory, and of course you will give your tour! Come, come, _benvenuto_!”

Sam hid his smile as they entered through the heavy doors of Castel Sant’Angelo. Claire’s ruse had worked, and they were now one step closer to solving the next part of the riddle.

They stepped inside, walking through the twenty-foot thick walls and into the main lobby. Sam took note of the defensive nature of the castle. It was built with the understanding that nobody was getting in without permission. An impressive level of paranoia. Climbing the wide, curved steps, Sam couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the high ceilings. It wasn’t often something made him feel small, and the feeling was quite disconcerting. Off the main staircase, the once-fortress branched out into a labyrinth of rooms and halls. It would be much too easy to get lost in here.

He stuck close to the group as Claire led them further up the stairs. The security guard didn’t follow them, which spoke volumes about the level of trust Claire incited in him, particularly after a robbery. Yet Sam supposed a lot of doors were opened when you were romantically involved with the curator.

“I’ll lock up after you! Wait by the entrance when you’re ready to leave, and I will unlock the door. I have to finish my patrol.”

The sound of the bolts being drawn should have set Sam on edge, but instead he simply enjoyed the security they provided. Those were thick, sturdy doors. If they were breached, the advanced warning would give them time to escape.

“Where is this painting?” Dean asked quietly, stepping next to Claire. Even though his words were spoken softly, in the silence of the museum, they all heard. “It’s creepy in here at night. It feels like the sculptures are looking at me.”

Sam snorted, and pretended he’d done nothing when Dean glared at him, giving him a half-shrug.

“Up another floor, unless you’d like to explore the cells. It’s in one of the lesser visited rooms, part of the set where Pope Alexander V resided after the death of his son. They’re mostly closed off to the public, except in rare circumstances.”

Finally, they stopped climbing and stepped into one of the hallways. This route looked darker than the main foyer, the dimmed lights practically non-existent in this unused area of the castle.

“Stay close, it’s too easy to get lost in here,” Claire told them.

Dean nodded, turning to look at Sam. “Cover our backs. Ten paces but stay in sight.”

Sam murmured his assent. Even if Dean hadn’t suggested it, he would have done so anyway. Something about the darkness here made him uneasy. Sam located his shotgun, and raised it, peering through the night vision scope as he moved. Walking through Rome with a shotgun strapped to his thigh wasn’t the best idea he’d had, but his long coat kept it hidden for the most part. Nobody had given him a second glance.

He followed the group, albeit at a slower pace. He was pretty sure nobody was following them but there was no such thing as too cautious.

“Pope Alexander V was an antipope, wasn’t he?” Eileen asked.

“Oh right, the antipopes,” Dean repeated, nodding as if he knew all about it. “How’d that even start, anyway?”

Sam tuned out the history lesson as he hung back. He knew a little about the antipopes already, remembered from history class the rejection of Urban VI and the subsequent Western schism. While ordinarily he loved to learn more and had no doubt Claire and Jack would have a fascinating insight into the history of the antipopes, he needed to stay focused on his role as the only lookout.

After heading through a few more galleries, their destination appeared ahead. Claire pushed open the door, stepping inside carefully. Inside were some lavish furnished rooms, tiled floors and grandiose sculptures and paintings. The floor was decorated with a typical Christian motif: Christ carrying a lamb on his shoulders. The Good Shepherd. Sam followed as they pressed into the next room, and finally reached the painting they were looking for.

The canvas spanned over ten feet, almost covering the entire wall. A thick, sturdy metal frame surrounded it. It was suddenly abundantly clear why the Demon Court hadn’t taken the painting with them when they broke in.

Claire gestured to it, stepping back to survey the image. “This is what we came to see.”

 

 **09:04 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Dean looked over the painting with a curious eye. It was a striking image, not at all like the other paintings he’d seen on the way here. Even in the darkness it was easy to see that. There was none of the black and ochre glow of Leonardo da Vinci paintings, or the black and pale contrasts of Caravaggio. This was a fresco of colour: greens, blues, yellows and oranges. It depicted a beautiful forest landscape and some tribesman. There was a fire going in the foreground of the painting, while a river wound through the back, between the trees.

His eyes scanned the painting until they fell onto the symbol that had led them to this painting. Claire was right, one of the tribesmen was indeed carving the sigil into stone, and so far had only completed the circle and triangle.

“So this is what we’re here to see,” Dean said. “What do you know about it? You said the origin of it was a mystery, what does that mean?”

“Nobody knows who painted it or how it got here. A few centuries ago, the painting appeared. It wasn’t there one day, and then the next it was hanging on this very wall. It’s installed so thoroughly that removing it would require the destruction of the entire wall.” Claire gave a wry smile. “It’s one of the biggest mysteries of Castel Sant’Angelo. The records say that all that was left with it was a single scroll, stating the original name of the painting.”

“You said that was _Ancestral Puebloans_ , right?”

Claire shook her head. “That’s the current name, and the name that is currently on record for the painting. Unfortunately, the original name was deemed too controversial in a time of great superstition in Europe, and so it was changed. According to the scroll, the original name of the painting was something else entirely.”

“And what’s that?” Dean asked, sensing from the glint in Claire’s eye that this was about to be a big revelation.

“ _Wendigo_.”

Dean hesitated. “And a wendigo is…?”

Claire looked disappointed that he didn’t know, so he gave her an apologetic shrug. He wasn’t a history professor, he was a professor of science.

“A wendigo is a legend in North American tribes. It’s said that within the tribes, harsh winters or failed harvests resulted in times of desperation. Some tribesmen resorted to eating human flesh to survive. Their cannibalistic tendencies changed them, actually morphed their DNA. They became feral and bloodthirsty, gained incredible boosts to strength and speed. They became monsters.”

Dean’s jaw went slack. Yet another instance of where the mutagen had cropped up throughout history. He was now completely persuaded that this portrait was exactly what they were meant to find. The coincidence was too great.

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’m convinced. Now we need to figure out the clue. Find out whatever it is that this painting is trying to tell us.”

Eileen cleared her throat. “But _why_ is this painting called Wendigo? There’s no bloodbath here.”

Claire held her hand out towards Eileen with a smile. “I’ll show you. Can I have a flashlight?”

Dean watched, eyes narrowed. He sensed that Claire was quite enjoying the puzzle side of their investigation. She seemed most in her element here, finding many a teaching moment. She was extremely well educated and a valuable asset to their team. He’d be truly disappointed when this mission was over, and she and Jack parted ways from the team. In so short a time, Dean knew that they were teammates he would always trust to have his back. A rarity, to be sure.

Claire spent a few moments angling her flashlight just right and then clicked it on. Dean immediately jumped. They hadn’t been visible in the darkness, but in the direct beam from the flashlight, two red eyes were visible in the treeline, fixed on the tribe. Not only that, when Claire shifted the beam slightly to the right, there were two obvious skeletons.

Jack inhaled sharply. “This is why the Demon Court went after the bones.”

“I think they already knew they weren’t bones,” Dean said. “They already knew how the blood powder worked, enough to poison the guards in Lyon with it and watch them change. They’ve already got a head start on its abilities. But I do agree that this painting is why they went after them.”

“So, the bones are the next clue?” Sam asked, from the doorway. He had his back to them when Dean glanced over, but it was obvious he was still paying attention to the conversation, even though he couldn’t see the painting.

“No,” Dean shook his head. “We’ve gone as far as we can with testing the bones. There isn’t any more information they can offer us right now. I think the next clue is in some way related to the next part of the riddle, but I’m not convinced we’ve solved all the first part yet. If the riddle was solvable on its own, we could just skip to the next part. The clue is meant to be solved along with this painting.”

He looked at the riddle again, reading it through. “The answer must be in here somewhere. We just have to find it.”

 

 **03:22 PM** **  
** **WASHINGTON D.C.**

Charlie Bradbury woke up with a start from her nap. She sat up blearily, wiping her eyes and mouth, and stuffing her Star Trek pillow under her desk. As she recognised what had woken her, Charlie knew she didn’t have time to check her appearance and simply smoothed her hair down.

“Come in!” She called out, clearing her throat as her usual high-pitched tinkle came out gruff and sleepy.

Kevin stepped into the room. Unlike Charlie, he looked wide awake. Despite being here for over twenty-four hours, he looked as if he’d just arrived for the day. He’d showered, his hair slightly damp and flat against his forehead, and he’d changed his shirt and jacket.

At the scrutiny, he smoothed down the front of his shirt. “I went to the gym to keep myself active. I took my tablet with me, so I could still monitor communications as they came in. And I keep a spare set of clothes in my locker.” He gave Charlie a sheepish grin.

Charlie stared at him. If someone had suggested she go for a run, she might have lobbed a stapler at them. Or her Hermione doll. Any strength she might have had to exercise had long since deserted her in the wake of the stressful mission. Yet in the field she knew she would be able to run a marathon. The rush of danger, the adrenaline of fear flooding through her… she missed it more than anything. Leadership was having an impact on her that she didn’t like.

“Director, I received word from General Milligan, our liaison in the Carabinieri Corps. Shortly after we checked in with General Milligan, the team went to ground.”

Ignoring the crick in her back from sleeping in her chair, Charlie sat bolt upright. “Another attack?” She demanded. “They were supposed to be safely inside the Vatican by now, researching.”

“No, ma’am. They just cancelled their escort and disappeared. I assume they’ve managed to decipher a part of the riddle we received. Either way, General Milligan is unhappy. He was unaware of their presence in Rome and is insisting that we share whatever intel was passed on. Apparently, Professor Novak shared that they had some information, but didn’t disclose what it was. He’s wondering why he’s being kept out of the loop.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing at all, Director. That’s our policy at ARTEMIS. We know nothing.” Kevin matched her expression, trying to hide his grin.

Well, it sometimes felt like that, Charlie had to admit.

“And Commander Winchester? What do we do about his disappearance?” Kevin continued.

That was the million-dollar question. There was a call to be made here. Charlie had no way of determining what the right call would be, knowing the consequences of her choice could be monumental. Still, she remembered the advice from her mentor and sighed.

“We do nothing. As you say, he probably deciphered part of the riddle. We have to give them the space to do that. Until there’s an indication of foul play or that he needs our help, Commander Winchester is perfectly capable of leading the team.”

Kevin frowned, and Charlie could read his displeasure with her answer. She recognised his dislike of sitting on the sidelines, twiddling his thumbs until they had something menial to do. She felt it herself, in every fibre of her being. In her view, it was always a mistake putting an ex-field agent behind a desk. They would get restless. And yet she’d been the most logical pick to run ARTEMIS. She didn’t regret her promotion, but she regretted what it meant for her future.

“What should I do in the meantime?”

“Go home,” Charlie sighed. “Rest. Eat. Sleep. One of us should. I’ll call you as soon as we get an update from Dean. _Sleep_ , Kevin, I know what you’re like. We’re going to be overrun when Commander Winchester checks in, so you’ll need to be well-rested. Leave your tablet here so you’re not tempted to work.”

“Yes, Director.”

Kevin closed the door behind him as he left, and Charlie sighed, retrieving her pillow once again. This chair was almost as comfortable as her own bed. It had to be, the amount she would be sleeping at her desk in the days to come. As she drifted off, something was niggling in the back of her head, trying to get her attention. Something Dean had said. Not being able to trust ARTEMIS because the Demon Court was one step ahead each time. A possible leak?

Charlie slowly opened her eyes, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Could it be?

Only one other person was given full information about the mission. As ARTEMIS was running the show, Charlie was liaising with various other authorities, but only one had access to the full mission brief. Not even Chuck Shurley was privy to the information, as Charlie found it better to keep certain details close to her chest after the events of her own last field mission. Rowena had been her field partner for years and had never given Charlie a reason not to trust her, but she’d been a Men of Letters agent the whole time. That kind of betrayal left a mark and had taught Charlie a valuable lesson.

Her own experience was what made her trust the instincts of her most capable agent. Dean believed there was a leak. Charlie believed him, the same way Chuck Shurley had believed her.

She sat up and leaned forward, realising the truth.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

 

 **09:22 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Dean stood in front of the painting, eyes fixed on the riddle. There was something there, between the first and second stanza that he was missing. But they were quickly running out of time to figure it out. Whatever it was, the Demon Court could have figured it out already and it might even be their next steps.

Sam had entered the room now to take a glance at the painting, but quickly turned his eyes back to the hallway. “So, tell me why this place is still standing? Why they didn’t firebomb the hell out of Castel Sant’Angelo as well as the cathedral in Lyon? They’ve left them right here for us to follow in their footsteps. Seems pretty sloppy if you ask me.”

Dean had wondered the same thing himself. He couldn’t assume that they hadn’t solved the riddle, he was pretty sure Crowley wasn’t the kind of guy to move on until he’d succeeded. Or whoever the true leader of the Demon Court was. From his brief interactions with Crowley and the information Castiel had given Director Bradbury, Dean had determined that Crowley was simply a field agent, albeit a trusted one. He’d been charged with an important mission, after all.

Regardless, Dean thought he had an answer.

“They have the only copy of the riddle in their position. Clearly they weren’t expecting anyone else to trace their footsteps here. We never would have gotten here if Castiel hadn’t stolen the riddle. There was no need to draw attention to this painting.”

Eileen hummed. She’d been kneeling for the last few minutes, taking pictures of all areas of the painting so they would have more to look at if they were forced to leave, but had stopped to pay attention to what they were saying.

“Maybe they weren’t completely sure of their interpretation. They might think they’ve solved it but there’s no way to know for sure until they’ve gotten the next part of the clue. They probably don’t want to risk destroying the painting until they’re certain they have the correct translation. A hasty manoeuvre like that could ruin their own plans.”

Dean nodded. That was the more likely option. But he was conscious of every passing minute. “Agreed. Then let’s try to figure out what they did.”

“Read the second stanza again?” Jack asked.

“ _The tomb of the truest believer points the way. The map will be shown in waters of blood._ ” Dean recited, not even looking at the riddle this time. He’d committed it to memory and was trying to logically talk himself through the process of solving it. “So, I think it’s safe to assume that the map referenced will be at our next destination, not here. The tomb of the truest believer is where the map is, and that’s what we need to figure out.”

“So who is the truest believer?” Claire sighed. “And what does it have to do with an Anasazi painting from the Renaissance era?”

“Could it be Noah?” Dean asked, turning to look at Jack. “His name has cropped up again and again in our theories. He was chosen by God to survive the Great Flood. That sounds like he was pretty devout to me.”

Jack frowned, eventually shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Noah was devout, but to bestow the title of truest believer is a stretch.”

Dean sighed, disheartened. It had been a long shot, and a weak hope that it might be that easy. He focused on the painting, repeating the riddle in his head. As his eyes fell once again on the sigil, Dean paused. This was all interlinked in some way, he knew that much. But how? He went back to the beginning.

The alchemists created the bones from the powder. But the bones were given to the Vatican. Why? Did the Church play a part in all of this? Dean thought of what Jack had mentioned in Venice, about Moses being credited as the writer of Genesis, glossing over the full story of Cain and Abel. He’d also written heavily about the Book of Life.

The Book of Life, that was the connection. It had also appeared in Revelations, but that wasn’t in the Old Testament. That was in the New Testament and was distinctly a Christian link. This was where the Vatican came into it. Humanity had long since descended from Seth and Cain, and the hatred the Demon Court were showing for the Vatican implied they played a heavy role in the events.

But what did that mean?

Dean stared at the sigil. It meant protection, from evil spirits like wendigos, Claire had said. It was carved into stone, into a rock…

That was it. He inhaled sharply. “ _On this rock I will build my church_.”

Jack froze. “What did you just say?”

“It’s St. Peter’s Basilica. Look at the symbol, etched into the rock on the painting. It’s telling us that the rock is what is significant in this painting. But we got this clue from the Book of Life, which is referenced not only in the Old Testament, which is shared by multiple religions in whatever representation they choose, but in the New Testament.”

Claire nodded, trembling. “Rock in Greek is _‘petros’._ This is why Simon Bar-Jona took the name Peter, long before he became Saint Peter.”

“You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church.”

Eileen’s head had been snapping back and forwards between all three of them, and now she spoke up. “So it’s an altar in St. Peter’s Basilica?”

“Not an altar,” Jack shook his head quickly. “You don’t see the full picture yet. What was St. Peter’s Basilica built on top of? What rock is buried under the foundations of Vatican City?”

Sam answered for them. “St. Peter’s tomb.”

“The Rock of the Church,” Jack finished. “I need to inform Cardinal Duma immediately. That’s the next stop for the Demon Court… oh no.”

He stilled, panic and horror etching into his features. Even in the darkness, it was clear to see that all the colour had drained from his face.

“What is it?” Dean asked in alarm, hand flying to his gun.

“Tonight. The midnight memorial. There is a mass scheduled out of respect for the tragedy in Lyon. Thousands will be in attendance, including His Holiness.”

Dean suddenly realised what Jack was driving at. He had seen the crime scene photos from Lyon. Everyone would be gathered inside St. Peter’s, and the Demon Court would be nestled below, armed with the blood powder and whatever else they needed to decipher the next part of the clue.

If they released the mutagen down there, if they accessed the Communion wine or had a way to make it airborne…

Dean imagined the thousands of people gathered in St. Peter’s square and in the basilica, amassed in the square. All of them mutating and turning into zombie-like creatures, ripping each other apart.

They couldn’t let that happen.

Dean’s hand slid into his pockets and squeezed the crucifix there, drawing strength from a faith he had long since forgotten.


	9. Traitor, Unmasked

**APRIL 24TH, 09:38 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

It felt like the day had lasted forever.

Dean was running on little more than fumes at this point. He hadn’t had his usual four hours of sleep since the plane had landed in Lyon and that was coming up to more than twenty-four hours ago. His team had caught naps here and there, he had insisted on it. But he himself had mostly stayed awake, reluctant to waste time when he needed to be figuring things out.

Dean hurried out of the main doors of Castel Sant’Angelo, his team at his heels. They had considered trying to access the _Passetto di Borga_ , but Jack had assured them that it would be completely secured on the Vatican end, and it wasn’t patrolled enough for someone to let them through. It was a possible escape route, but it was only accessible one-way.

So they needed to travel on foot. Jack planned to call ahead and warn them of the plot once they reached the street. He didn’t want to alarm Ash, so he would wait until they had the subtle discretion of the empty streets.

“Is everything alright, _Professoressa_? You’ve finished your tour already?” Ash asked, stepping out of the doorway after them.

Dean knew they were projecting their fears and panic, the urgency of the situation making their hasty exit more than a little suspicious.

“It’s fine, Ash. We simply remembered a prior engagement, that’s all. We’ll come back during opening hours to finish our tour.”

Handing his phone to Jack, Dean stepped ahead of the rest of the group. The alarm needed to be raised as soon as possible, and Jack was the best person to reach someone of authority. Since he answered directly to Cardinal Duma, the Vatican Secretary of State, he could get the evacuation moving quickly.

The crack of the bullet was the first time that Dean realised something was wrong. It struck the stone floor mere inches in front of Dean’s foot, bright sparks shooting from the impact.

While he may not have been anticipating the ambush, once it began, he was quick to react. “Inside. Get back inside!” He yelled, all of them bolting for the thick sturdy doors of Castel Sant’Angelo.

Before they reached it, the doorway exploded in a plethora of flame, throwing them all back. Dean found himself thrown towards Jack, while Sam, who had been closest to the door, found himself lifted off his feet and pushed backwards into Eileen.

The boobytrapped door was blown off its hinges, falling with a crash inward, smoke billowing from the source of the explosion.

Dean’s eyes immediately sought his team members, checking for casualties. Jack was fine, moving towards Claire, who was trying to prop herself up. Sam was shielding Eileen with his body, turning her over and clearing dirt from her face, making sure she was okay. Even the night guard was sitting up, shaken but unharmed. Satisfied, Dean drew his gun, but found no target. No figures emerged from the shadows, nobody came running forward to investigate the flames.

He cast his eyes around the surroundings but could see nobody in the darkness ahead. The world was silent, almost as if the shot had never been taken, the door had never blown.

“Sam,” Dean called out.

His brother got to his knees, still hovering over Eileen as he drew his shotgun once again, checking through the night vision scope fixed to the top of the barrel as he scanned the horizon.

“I can’t see anything. No movement.” Sam said.

The shrill ringing of Dean’s phone caught everyone’s attention. All eyes flickered towards the sound, and Jack held the phone out towards Dean cautiously.

Dean took it but didn’t allow his eyes to break from the darkness. There had only been the single shot, but the blown door was meant to block their retreat. They were pinned down, with very little cover. Why? He pressed the phone to his ear but said nothing.

The voice that greeted him was one that he had come to know and loathe. “ _Good evening, Commander Winchester_.”

“Castiel.”

“ _I see that ARTEMIS passed on my message_.”

Dean gritted his teeth. Why hadn’t he suspected that Castiel would follow them? He wanted them to solve the riddle for him, of course he would be keeping track of their progress. Eileen had been right, he should have had someone waiting outside, they would have been able to stop Castiel from rigging the door.

He said nothing in response to Castiel’s statement. He already knew the truth, so why bother replying?

“ _From your hasty exit from Castel Sant’Angelo, I suspect that you either broke something valuable or you solved the riddle. My money is on the latter_.”

Angrily, Dean remained defiantly silent. Halo wasn’t getting a shred of information out of him.

“ _Yes, Crowley wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his knowledge either_ ,” Castiel replied smoothly. “ _It seems the Demon Court wishes to keep the Men of Letters at arm’s length for the moment, as a last resort for defence. Unfortunately, that simply won’t do. So, if you’d be so kind as to share whatever you learned inside that castle, we can avoid any further bloodshed. You can all leave here alive and unscathed._ ”

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and covered the receiver. “Sam?”

“Still nothing.” Sam breathed.

Wherever Castiel was sniping from, he had a clear view of their entire position. Unfortunately, within their skyline, there were lots of places that could apply to. Tactically, he had the advantage. There was nowhere Dean and his team could retreat to. They were at his mercy.

“ _Come now, Commander. We both know that there is something time-sensitive here. I watched your speedy exit, after all. I can keep you here all night if I need to, picking you off one at a time until someone talks. I’d leave you until the end, of course. Out of respect for our profound bond_.”

“What bond?” Dean hissed, immediately biting his tongue in an attempt to stay silent.

Castiel sounded amused. “ _There you are. I thought you’d forgotten how to speak. And the bond of a life debt, of course. I’ve let you live and escape twice now. You owe me. So be a good boy_.”

Dean said nothing, but he flinched when a bullet cracked near his foot. He drew back with a low hiss, feeling the accuracy of that shot. Castiel was good.

Sam leaned over. “He must be using some kind of exhaust suppression on the rifle. There wasn’t even a flicker.”

Resigned, Dean knew he had no other option if he wanted them to survive. “What do you want to know?”

“ _The Demon Court are moving on a new target tonight. You know where it is. Tell me, and you all go free._ ”

“How do I know you’ll honour that?”

“ _If I wanted you dead, I’ve had many opportunities to do so. Right now, you’re more useful to me alive. But you don’t really have any other choice but to take my word for it, Dean. May I call you Dean?” He continued, not waiting for a response. “I might need you again, so I’ll keep you around for now, but I certainly don’t need_ all _of you. I’d be happy to start with the blonde girl if you force my hand._ ”

Dean had no choice. “Fine. Okay. Yeah, we solved the damn riddle.”

“ _Where will the Demon Court be?_ ”

“At the catacombs,” Dean risked a bluff. “Just on the outskirts -”

Something flew past his ear and a startled cry echoed as the night guard clutched at his shoulder. Dean turned to see blood oozing between his fingers and he sank to the floor. Claire immediately darted over to him, checking his wound.

“Shit! Sam, help him.”

Sam was their medic, he had the training to deal with gunshots. He was the most qualified to treat the wound, although that meant he would have to give up the search. He was the only one with a long-distance scope.

Sam hesitated, wavering on whether or not to follow the order.

“Sam!” Dean barked, waving for his brother to stand down. Castiel was too smart, had planned this too thoroughly. He wouldn’t give away his position. Sam lowered his shotgun and made his way to the caretaker, searching through his pack for the first aid kit.

“ _That’s your first strike. You get two,_ ” Halo’s voice had hardened considerably. “ _Lie to me again and I’ll shoot to kill_.”

Dean’s hand tightened around the hefty weight of the satellite phone. A smartphone would probably have broken in his hand, the way his grasp had his knuckles whitening.

“ _I have some of my own intel. I’ll know if your answer makes sense or not._ ”

Dean wanted desperately to find a way to throw him off track, but between the groans and sobs of the night guard and the panic of the impending disaster at Vatican City, Dean had no time to strategise. He had to face what he had been disavowing this whole time. He and the Men of Letters were in bed together. They needed to keep each other in the game for now, which meant they all needed to live.

Castiel had kept them in the loop to a certain extent. Dean needed to return the favour. Scores could be settled when this was over.

“Vatican City.” He replied curtly.

“ _Where? And why? Explain it to me_.”

“St. Peter’s tomb, in the necropolis below the basilica. The riddle referenced a symbol in a specific painting. In the painting that symbol was etched into a rock. That and the origin of the book the riddle came from… well, it’s Vatican City.”

Castiel was silent for a moment, as if weighing up Dean’s truthfulness. “ _Clever work. I knew there was a reason I hadn’t killed you yet. Now if you’d all dispose of your phones, we can wrap this up. Collect them all and walk to the bridge. Toss them over the side. No tricks, I know exactly how many phones you have between you._ ”

Dean obeyed. He took each of their phones and threw them all into the Tiber, one at a time to show he wasn’t trying to pull anything. He valued the head attached to his shoulders too much. Castiel wouldn’t hesitate, and he wouldn’t miss.

The only phone that was left was the one at Dean’s ear. He waited silently for further instructions.

“ _Goodbye for now, Dean_.”

The phone next to his ear exploded in a burst of static, ripped from his fingers. Dean barely recognised that it had just been shot out of his hands from afar. He clapped his hand to his ear as it rang, almost deafened by the impact. Blood trickled down his neck.

He waited, anticipating the double cross. He had no defence, just waited for the shot that would rip his life from him. It didn’t come. Instead, he heard an engine roaring to life, and then settling into a rumble. A motorbike. The sound faded away slowly. Castiel was heading out with the information he’d gained.

Dean turned to go and check on Ash.

“It’s a through and through. Clean shot.” Eileen told him. “Sam took care of it, until we can get him proper medical help.”

“He didn’t want to kill. Just prove a point. He shot the phone away from Dean’s ear, not many people could make that shot at all, let alone in the dark.” Jack muttered.

Dean barely noticed when Sam came up to him until he started prodding at his injured ear. He flinched away, but Sam held him still.

“Cut it out, Sammy.” Dean warned.

“Then stay still and let me do my job,” Sam shot back, inspecting Dean’s ear. “It’s just a laceration, not too deep. Hold still.”

He sprayed something on the wound and Dean let out a yell. “ _Son of a_ _bitch_ , that stings!”

“But now you’re not bleeding anymore,” Sam shrugged. “It’s a liquid bandage. It’ll dry in a second. Faster if I blow on it, but I’m pretty sure you’d punch me.”

Dean grunted. No kidding.

“Who _are_ you people? What’s going on, Claire?” Ash asked, warily.

Leaving the others to explain, Dean made for the doorway into Castel Sant’Angelo. The flames hadn’t spread inside the building. In fact, they were already dying down, the smoke not as thick now. It seemed as though Castiel’s boobytrap had simply been a deterrent, to stop them seeking refuge out of range of his rifle. The only casualties that had sustained any damage at all were the doors. Respect for the masterpieces within, or an accidental flaw in the rigging?

If Dean had to guess, it wouldn’t be the latter. Every plan Castiel had executed so far had gone almost perfectly. He wasn’t likely to make a mistake.

It unsettled him, to think that Castiel was respectful of art. That there was a personality, a _person_ behind the agent. It was harder to think of him as inherently evil that way.

Dean left the doorway and returned to the others, just in time to see Claire clasping Ash’s hand and talking to him intently. “ _Mi dispiace_ ,” she breathed.

She was apologising to him, no doubt carrying the weight of his injury on herself. That wasn’t on her, it was on the whole team. Yet he could tell Claire was taking it personally due to her personal connection with the man. Dean watched her for a second, not sure of how he was feeling. When was the last time he’d apologised for any collateral damage? It had never even occurred to him to do so.

Claire’s civilian nature highlighted the worst parts of him and Dean was suddenly seeing things - and himself - in a whole new light. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Pushing aside his inner turmoil, he cleared his throat. “Ash, go inside and use the phone to call medical help for yourself. After that, call the Carabinieri and ask to speak to General Milligan. Tell him everything that happened here tonight but tell nobody else we were here. We have to go, I’m sorry to just leave you like this, but we really need to leave right now.”

Ash nodded, staring at Dean. The weight of the scrutiny was obvious, as if choosing his next words carefully. Eventually, he reached into his pocket and tossed a set of car keys towards Dean, who caught them deftly.

“I heard you mention Vatican City. If His Holiness is in danger, take my car. She is parked just over the bridge. You’ll know her when you see her. Just leave her somewhere I can find her. I’ll be fine from here. Go.”

Dean nodded gratefully, gesturing for his team to follow. They all took off at a run, back over the bridge they’d crossed earlier. Time was of the essence now, and the Demon Court and Castiel had too much of a head start. They needed to catch up quickly.

They reached the parking lot Ash had referred them to and Dean was dismayed to find there was no central locking option on the keys. He couldn’t find out which car they belonged to.

He looked down the next row, checking each car as he passed. Which one was it? Ash said they would know it when they saw it… but none of the cars really stood out. Red, black, black, silver… ah.

“I found it,” Dean called out, his expression one of disgust as he looked over the vibrant gold 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V in front of him. A pimpmobile if there ever was one. He pressed the key into the lock and turned it, wincing as it opened the door.

Goddamnit.

 

 **10:01 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

After a quick stop at the first phone booth they passed, Claire sped away from the curb. She had insisting on driving, knowing Rome traffic and shortcuts better than the others, even better than Jack.

She sped away into the traffic, earning an irritated beep from a wildly gesticulating driver as she changed lanes in front of him. What was his problem? There was the width of an entire handspan between her rear bumper and the front of the car behind. That was plenty of room!

The Continental’s headlights lit their way as they raced towards Vatican City. The drive from Castel Sant’Angelo to Vatican City was a matter of minutes, but the traffic was backed up. Too many people were trying to get there for the midnight mass, the memorial for the deceased in Lyon. Claire barely spared the other drivers a glance, weaving around and between the other cars as if they were mere obstacles in her way.

Both she and Jack had placed separate phone calls, trying to contact Cardinal Duma and General Milligan. Neither call had been successful. General Milligan was personally overseeing the service that evening, already in St. Peter’s Square. Jack had simply been told Cardinal Duma was currently unavailable. Not knowing who else to ask for, other than His Holiness, Jack had hung up. It would raise too many flags if he tried to contact the Pope directly.

Still, the alarm had been raised with the Carabinieri. Messages had been left and would trickle down through the channels. Hopefully it would be in time.

“How much longer?” Dean asked, from the back seat.

Claire didn’t answer as the recognisable walls of Vatican City came into view. Unfortunately, that was the point where the traffic came to a complete standstill and Claire was forced to slam her foot down hard onto the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, a hair-width away from the car in front.

“We’ll never reach the road entrances. We should go on foot from here, make for the rail entrance,” Jack informed them, already getting out of the car.

They abandoned the Continental in the middle of the traffic and raced towards the bridge, turning left just before they reached it. There was no road here, it stopped dead, only a narrow path that was overrun with grass and weeds, running parallel to the railroad tracks. It was almost impossible to see where they were going, and Claire stumbled more than once before a flashlight lit her way. She glanced over her shoulder to see Sam pointing the torch for her.

Suddenly, they were lit up brilliantly by a pair of headlights. Claire blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brilliance, but Jack pushed his way to the front, waving his identification. When Claire could see, she realised they’d been spotted by two members of the Pontifical Swiss Guard, both dressed in their blue night-uniforms and flanking a midnight-blue service van. She also realised that both guards were pointing rifles right at them.

They both appeared to recognise Jack but cast suspicious gazes over the rest of their party. Claire had to admit how suspicious they looked, running towards the Vatican City from a rarely-used railway entrance on foot. Thankfully, the ARTEMIS team all had their weapons concealed. There was no time to be detained and questioned.

“I will vouch for them and so will Cardinal Duma,” Jack told them. “We have an emergency. Has word reached you of an attack?”

The guard on the left looked alarmed, his eyes widened as he shook his head. “No, Lieutenant.”

Claire’s eyes found Dean’s. It was as they had feared; the message was travelling too slowly for any kind of evacuation or countermeasures. By the time word reached the Swiss Guard at the entrances, the Demon Court would already be inside. Claire was willing to bet her life savings that they probably already were inside.

“There will be an attack tonight. I must reach Cardinal Duma and warn him. We need to evacuate the city. Lock down this entrance. Nobody comes through.” Jack ordered.

The guards sprang to attention, both at the command in Jack’s voice and his rank and they nodded, stepping aside to let them through.

Claire didn’t have to be told to hurry. She knew the stakes. They all ran through the gap created for them and fanned out, each running at full speed. Claire noticed that she and Jack flagged behind a little, and she knew he could easily keep pace with the others, when she couldn’t quite manage it. Whether that was due to her jolted ankle or the fact that she’d never undergone a military fitness regime remained to be seen, but Claire had no designs on being left behind. It was sheer stubbornness that kept her going, kept her from falling too far behind.

They tore through Vatican City, weaving around the Tribunal Palace. St Peter’s Basilica was looming over them now, and Claire could hear the distant sounds of music. She tried to listen over the gasps of her own breath and recognised the choir singing ' _Ave Maria'_. Mass had officially begun. They were running out of time to get people to safety.

Claire hadn’t seen any of the crime scene photographs that Dean had alluded to - no doubt Jack had kept them away from her - but she had read the autopsy reports. She could imagine the horrors based on the information she had gleaned. There were thousands of people in Vatican City tonight, and all of them could be exposed to the mutagen, with no hope of finding a cure.

“Follow me,” Jack interrupted her thoughts as he put on a burst of speed, taking the lead at the front of the group. The grounds they were passing through were deserted. Everyone who was here had turned their attention to the Pope. Claire had seen it before herself. Important services like Conclave or memorials practically emptied the entire city-state.

“Over here,” Jack slowed to a halt and beckoned them over to an unremarkable door at the edge of the tiny yard. Solid steel and unguarded, it was the most nondescript door Claire had ever seen for something so valuable. “This leads down to where we need to go.”

Dean glanced around, frowning at the absence of guards. Claire saw him and caught his eyes. “They’ll be watching the memorial. When the Pope is making a public appearance, things become a lot harder for the Swiss Guard.”

“It’s still locked.” Jack interrupted their conversation. “We beat them here after all.”

“We can’t assume that. We know they have a contact within these walls, they might have keys.”

Jack disagreed and produced a heavy keyring with what had to be more than fifty keys. He fished through them quickly, sliding three of them off the ring with ease. He held them out to Claire. “Only about ten people in this city have keys to this door. I’m not even supposed to be one of them. These two keys will open the doors that will take you to the tomb of St. Peter. The brass one will open this external door.”

Blinking, Claire didn’t attempt to take the keys. “Why -”

“You know the layout below just as well as I do. I need to reach Cardinal Duma. The Pope must be evacuated, and the basilica emptied without creating a mass panic. None of you have the right credentials to get there quick enough.”

Claire nodded, taking the keys. None of them were in the Vatican’s employ, or had the slightest idea on how to reach Cardinal Duma. It was probably why it was taking so long for the alarm to be raised and the evacuation of the city to be ordered. The Vatican had too many procedures and protocols to follow. Miles of red tape. Even though General Milligan would likely know the truth by now, he had no jurisdiction upon Vatican soil.

Jack caught Dean’s eye and gave him a pointed look as he turned and jogged away from them. Claire pretended not to see it, although she knew exactly what it meant. _Look after my sister, Commander_.

She knew he was looking out for her, but the real gratitude she felt came from his decision to hand her the keys. It was an unspoken acceptance of her presence, as part of this team. A few hours ago, he would have tried to find some way to keep her out of Vatican City.

She slid the brass key into the lock and turned it. It was well-oiled and turned silently with no resistance. Before she could open the heavy door, Dean stopped her.

“We need to be ready for anything down there. Radio up.”

The words sent an excited thrill through Claire’s body. This was the best part of the mission for her. Forget about the exhilaration of possibly falling to her death, she was all about the gadgets. The throat microphones developed by DARPA were the coolest things she’d ever seen. The barest whisper could be picked up by their earpieces, as if she was lip syncing under her breath. Subvocalisation, Dean had called it. It was a little unnerving at first, how each sound rang through the earpiece as clear as a bell, no matter how quiet it was uttered. Claire supposed that was why the tiny microphone had to be activated with a press of the finger each time someone spoke. The sound of five people breathing would be deafening otherwise.

The fact that Eileen also had an earpiece was the icing on the cake for Claire. DARPA technology was so far advanced that even Eileen could hear them. If she was truly honest with herself, she was heavily surprised by Eileen’s impairment and had questioned her efficiency as a field agent. How could someone deaf be aware of how to move silently and without detection, or be aware of an ambush, or someone creeping up on them? Yet Eileen had surprised her with her ability to move silently through the halls of Castel Sant’Angelo and so far, her deafness had yet to have an impact on the team.

Claire was embarrassed she’d even had those questioning thoughts. She’d been unable to imagine how Eileen could keep up, yet she’d never dreamed of how skilled Eileen was or the technology ARTEMIS provided her with. The technology made up for any disadvantage Eileen would have in the field.

Taking the provided microphone, Claire taped it to her neck as Sam heaved open the steel door. It was pitch black inside, the stairs descending to the basement completely invisible in the darkness.

“There’s a light switch just inside,” Claire breathed.

Dean shook his head. “We go in dark. Sam, we need those night-vision lenses.”

Claire expected some goggles, maybe some kind of cool attachment that fitted over her face. She was unprepared for the tiny cases that Sam drew from his pack and took it curiously.

“Contact lenses,” Eileen told her. “They’re a recent prototype. Compact and we won’t be blinded if someone turns the light on, they’re able to sense light levels and adjust accordingly.”

Claire was amazed. She’d never worn contacts before, so she hesitated, watching the others wash their hands with some sort of saline solution, before they popped the lenses in. Eileen had a little trouble with hers, and Claire looked away as Sam cradled her face gently, helping guide the lens into place. It felt like she was watching a private moment, though she couldn’t put a finger on why. Eileen had said herself that she found it easier to remain unattached. Even that kiss on the cheek at St. Mark’s had just been for show, there’d been no real chemistry behind it.

But Eileen looked a lot less sombre as Sam withdrew, some of the sharpness of her face softening. Even Sam looked like he was reluctant to tear away from her.

She caught Dean’s eye and he gave her a slight grin. He’d noticed it too and was apparently amused by it, but he shook his head as he approached her, helping her with her own contacts. Focusing on his task, Dean lowered his voice as he spoke to her.

“The intensity of missions comes out in all different ways. When you’re hyped up on adrenaline all the time, your body projects some of it in different ways. There’s nothing between them, and it’ll wear off the second we get back to HQ. Don’t get any ideas of a grand romance, it’s not going to happen. Sam and Eileen know how to keep things professional.” He touched the second lens gently to her iris, pulling back as she flinched. She couldn’t help it, it was an instinctive reaction.

Claire looked at him curiously, blinking rapidly at the intrusion of the contact lenses in her eyes. She couldn’t really feel them but if she focused, she knew they were there. She looked back at Dean, trying to adjust to seeing the world in tones of green and silver. “Where does your intensity go?” She realised as soon as the words left her lips that the question was an extremely personal one. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean shrugged. “It’s a fair question. Sam and Eileen are projecting sexual chemistry. I suppose I project... murderous intent.”

Realisation dawned. “Castiel. You two have history.”

She watched as Dean’s hand went to the cut on his ear. He probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “You could say that. Our interests are aligned temporarily at the moment, but sooner or later it will just be the two of us and only one of us will walk away from that encounter.”

He turned away before Claire could say anything else, and she found herself a little frightened of him. To hear someone talk about death and murder in such a casual manner was something she had never experienced.

Dean stepped inside, leading the way. Claire followed next with Eileen right behind her. She wondered if it was a tactical decision to have Sam covering the rear, closing the door behind them. The way became dark, even with the contacts. Night vision could pick out details, but it was useless in complete darkness. Each step she descended felt unsteady, and feeling around with her feet meant that she was taking up too much time.

The world lit up brightly as Dean clicked on a flashlight and tucked it into his belt, illuminating the way. Claire wondered why they couldn’t use the light if Dean was just going to use a flashlight. Raising her hands, she used her index finger to gently nudge the contact in her left eye to the side. The green faded to pitch black and back again as the contact readjusted itself. It must be an ultraviolet beam, invisible to the naked eye but picked up by the night vision lenses.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Claire stayed just behind Dean, ready to point him in the direction of their target. They were in a small antechamber now, with a few models that were shown on tours. None of the team spared the models a glance. They were heading to the real tomb of St. Peter. The bones and cloth found within the necropolis so many years ago were still here but had been housed inside bulletproof glass boxes that were now secured into the stone wall he’d been found behind.

But that was down another level.

Claire leaned over Dean’s shoulder silently, pointing at the circular stairway that would take them down into the very foundations of Vatican City.

She shivered, feeling the deep cold down here. Even her leather jacket was doing nothing to combat the chill in her bones. The darkness that was only held at bay by the limited light of Dean’s flashlight crept at the corner of her vision, around every corner. Claire felt uneasy, almost claustrophobic.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Claire stopped Dean with a single hand to his shoulder and eased her way in front. She had the keys after all. Silently, she reached out and unlocked the door. Dean stopped her from opening the door, pushing her back behind him. Claire pursed her lips but didn’t resist. She didn’t exactly want to be first through the door anyway.

Dean cracked the door open just an inch or so and peered inside. “Yeah, just as I thought,” he breathed. “It’s dark as a tomb in there.”

Sam’s huff of annoyance was evident even without the microphone. Claire stopped herself from cracking a smile, glad for the way everyone’s tension had eased all at once with Dean’s joke.

They opened the door and stepped inside the tomb. Even with her relaxed state, Claire half-expected there to be some kind of trap or ambush. It was unnerving to hear nothing except their own footsteps as they entered the necropolis.

“I think Jack was right, we’re the first one’s here. For the first time, we’ve got the jump on the Demon Court and I say we take it. This time it’s _our_ turn. We set up an ambush.”

Claire wasn’t sure that was her favourite plan, but the way Sam and Eileen were nodding signified that she was outvoted.

“What’s the move?”

“We still have a civilian with us, so no chances. We set up the trap and then get the hell out of dodge.” He pointed to the door, staring at his brother. “Stand guard. It’s the only way in or out of here, so you’re our only warning. Watch our backs.”

Dean turned and dug through his pack, handing two small boxes to Eileen, who cracked them open. They looked a little like egg cartons, but the contents within were unfortunately not going to make an omelette. “Flash bombs and sonic grenades. Their most obvious move is their most tactical one. They’ll come in dark. So we blind and deafen them. Spread them out across the tomb. No blind spots.”

Eileen nodded.

His attention turned to Claire, who waited for her own orders. There was something about Dean’s leadership, he looked at her in a way that made her want to stand to attention and salute. Even with his brother, there was a certain level of command in Dean that wasn’t there in Sam. Like the way that even when Sam disagreed, he still followed orders. The respect and trust Dean had earned from his brother and his teammate was unbelievable.

“Take me to the tomb.”

Claire nodded. That she could do. Maybe it was better that she kept out of any ambush plans and stayed in the role she’d been playing the whole time - an art historian. There was still a clue to be solved here, after all. She led the way along the ancient path, past family crypts that lined the walkway, heading for the centre of the necropolis. A metal walkway was the only route to the platform and pane of bulletproof glass that served as the viewing window for the remains within. She pointed to it.

“The final resting place of St. Peter.”

 

 **10:35 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Dean climbed the walkway to the platform, UV flashlight pointing through the glass until he was close enough to see through it. From here, the contents of the tomb looked nondescript, but it was the contents themselves that made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up. He could see a fragment of white clay that took him less than a second to identify. Bone.

The bones of St. Peter.

“Is this the closest we can get?” Dean asked. His plan revolved around them getting a little closer.

Claire took out the last key that Jack had entrusted to her, shaking her head. She made for the metal gate into the inner sanctum. Dean followed, joined by Eileen as she finished up planting the charges.

“We have to speed it up a little,” Dean told her. They’d already taken too long down here, they needed to be in and out before the Demon Court struck. They’d struck after midnight in Lyon, but Dean wasn’t taking any chances this time. They were outgunned and outmanned. If it came down to brute force, they would lose.

He pulled out the gear that he almost hadn’t packed when leaving Washington D.C. but was now immensely glad that he’d had the foresight - or paranoia, depending on how you looked at it - to pack everything he might need. Two tiny video cameras, little more than lenses really, were pressed into tiny crevices within the mausoleum. Dean placed them opposite each other, one on each side. Now they had a complete view of the room, including the window into the previous chamber.

“What are you doing?” Claire asked, curiously.

Dean waved for them to back out of the inner sanctum. “I don’t want to spring the trap too earlier and have them escape with the bones. They need to be comfortable in here, set up their equipment. That’s when we move. Lock the door again. We can’t have any sign that we’ve been here.”

Claire did so, sliding the keys into her jacket pocket.

Dean wondered what Castiel’s move would be. If he’d join up with the Court and betray them, or if he’d stay working his own agenda. No doubt he’d have some sort of trick up his sleeve. The only thing he knew about Castiel with absolute certainty was that he was always three steps ahead. He always had an angle and he always had an escape plan.

“How we doing, Sammy?” Dean spoke into his radio as he crossed into one of the mausoleums opposite the tomb.

“ _All quiet_.”

Dean sighed with relief. They had a little more time, at least. The mausoleum he had just walked into was empty, the remains long since removed. But he needed space and needed somewhere the Court were unlikely to accidentally walk into and discover the equipment left here. He freed the tablet from his pack and set it up, wirelessly connecting to the cameras. Down here it would be difficult to get any kind of connection, but Dean had DARPA technology on his side.

A faint green light flickered to show the successful connection and then the screen lit up. Good. He tapped a button on the side and it all went dark, sending the apparatus into an invisible mode. No lights or sounds would shine from the equipment until Dean turned it back on.

“Okay,” he straightened up. “The signal from the cameras doesn’t have a great range, so the tablet will have to stay here. We can connect to it from another tablet or laptop on the surface. Once the Demon Court is down here, we’ll blast them with the charges and then bring the entire Swiss Guard down on them.”

Eileen narrowed her eyes and then finally inclined her head, accepting the plan. “If we’d been too cautious back at Castel Sant’Angelo and wasted too much time, we wouldn’t have this chance.”

It was as close to an apology and a concession that Dean was going to get, and he took it gracefully, nodding his head. Finally, it seemed like luck was with them. Now they just had to rally the Swiss Guard and hope that Jack had managed to get things moving above -

A series of explosions cut off his thought. They weren’t loud, leaving no impact on his ears. In fact, they were almost muffled, sounding like they were underwater. Dean froze as another sound followed in the wake of the echoes. A loud creak, and the cracking of stone. What was that?

Dean dropped into a crouch as a series of small holes punched through the roof above them. He disappeared back into the mausoleum as stone and dirt crashed down into the crypts. They were coming in through the roof. Before the rubble even had a chance to settle, thick ropes dropped through the openings and one man after another descended into the necropolis.

A full team. The Demon Court were taking no chances.

Looking up, Dean cursed under his breath. There was another way into the necropolis and yet he hadn’t ever considered that they might use less conventional means to arrive here. They must have slunk in as civilians and then accessed the crypts underneath the basilica. The gear was probably stored in here well in advance, through their contact in the Vatican. Now, with the distraction of the memorial service, they were punching through the floor and making their move.

They’d escape the same way, back up their ropes and disappearing into the crowd at St. Peter’s, taking with them the bones and the knowledge of the next clue.

Dean couldn’t let that happen.

“Eileen, take Claire and get to Sam. Do not engage. You need to get back upstairs and find the Swiss Guard.” Dean whispered. He couldn’t see where they had retreated to, but he hoped they were at least out of sight, should the assault team turn around.

“ _What about you?_ ”

“I’m staying here. I’ll monitor from the tablet and delay them if I need to by setting off the charges. You can reach me over the earpiece if you need me.”

They still had a chance.

Then Sam spoke up. Even with his low tones, his words were faint. “ _No exit here. They blasted a hole right above the exit and nearly brought the roof down on my head, either way it’s blocked. Even without that, they’re riveting the door shut. There’s no way up._ ”

Dean listened silently. He was too far away to hear what Sam could, but through his brother’s earpiece, he could hear the distant thuds of the rivets. Damnit.

“ _So there’s no way out_.” Sam finished.

“Eileen, belay that order. Go to ground and wait for my signal.” Dean ordered, switching tack. He was now forced to improvise, and he just had to hope it would work. Cut off from Jack, from the Swiss Guard, from the Carabinieri, there was no hope of getting help now.

They were on their own.

 

 **10:49 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

Jack entered St. Peter’s Basilica through the sacristy door. Two other members of the Swiss Guard flanked each side of him. He’d shown his ID to each of them twice to get this far, but at least he’d gotten the ball rolling with regards to the attack. The word was now spreading, the Swiss Guard all on high alert. Jack regretted not giving his name when he’d placed the call, it would have had more impact.

He entered the nave near the middle of the church. Like most cathedrals and churches, the basilica was shaped like a giant cross, only on a much more impressive scale. Known as the largest church in the world, the space inside was so vast that a soccer match could be played within the nave alone.

The memorial was underway now, which meant that the basilica was completely full. Every available seat was taken, the pews crowded to their maximum capacity. Thousands of candles and hundreds of chandeliers illuminated the basilica as the service continued. The choir was loud, thunderous and melodic as they sang. Ordinarily, Jack would find this beautiful. Now it just emphasised his panic and need to begin the evacuation. But he couldn’t show panic. Mass panic would cause a stampede towards the limited exits and people would be hurt. The Demon Court had caused enough bloodshed. No more.

Jack stepped forward but forced himself not to run. He nodded to the four Swiss Guards at his shoulders and they separated, sweeping up the aisles left and right to alert their brothers-in-arms. Jack wished he was wearing his uniform, it would give him a level of veracity that his identification alone would not provide. Especially since his priority now was to get the Pope to safety and then have the remaining clergy and Swiss Guard evacuate the parishioners and tourists.

He turned. From here, Jack had a direct line of sight to the papal altar. On the far side, the Pope was seated underneath the bronze Bernini canopy that covered the main altar. By his side sat the person that Jack had been the most desperate to see. The person who would take him seriously and had that power to get things moving. Cardinal Duma sat pallid, frail, a far cry from the strong man that Jack had seen only days prior. He looked close to death, like he should be in a hospital rather than St. Peter’s. But dead he was not.

Jack thought of the heart medication Cardinal Duma kept in his desk and the body bag he’d seen the day he and Claire had left Vatican City and felt relieved.

Jack stepped forward. He wasn’t in the appropriate attire by any means, and he had no uniform to hand and no time to change into one regardless. His clothes were covered in dust and debris, and he needed a shower, smelling like a combination of sweat and smoke from the fire at Castel Sant’Angelo. Approaching Cardinal Duma would draw a lot of attention. He’d need to be discreet. Reaching the front, Jack edged to the left. He needed to circle around to the back, so he could speak to the Cardinal in private.

Before he could make it, a hand reached out from a doorway that was almost completely hidden in shadow despite the numerous candles. Jack glanced over as the hand wrapped around his bicep and held him firmly. Alarm gripped him, but he relaxed as soon as he recognised the owner of the hand. Father Ishim. Jack knew him well, he was the head prefect of the Archives.

“Jack,” he hissed. “I heard a rumour…”

His words were lost as the choir hit a particularly loud note.

Jack leaned closer, stepping into the shadows so he could better hear what Father Ishim had to say. He recognised the doorway, of course. It led down to the Sacred Grottoes. What on earth had Father Ishim been doing down there? “I’m sorry, _Padre,_ I couldn’t hear. What rumour?”

The grip tightened, and the distinct coolness of metal was shoved into his ribs. A gun, but smoother than a barrel. It had a silencer attached.

“Not another word, Jack.” Father Ishim warned.

 

 **10:57 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

From his position in the mausoleum, Dean sank to the floor, lying flat on his front just out of sight of the opening. His pistol was still in his hand, pointed at the doorway, but his gaze was fixed on the tablet he was clutching. He had turned the display to the next setting: dark mode. It glowed in ultraviolet light, just like his flashlight. Right now, the display was showing him both cameras, side by side. One had a perfect view of everything that was happening around St. Peter’s tomb. The other faced out into the main necropolis.

The assault team had divided into two. One set was patrolling the necropolis. Thankfully, they obviously weren’t expecting the ARTEMIS team to already be there, so they weren’t inspecting the individual mausoleums. The other group was working in pairs, blocking the gate and carrying out their own jobs. They worked efficiently, each person knowing their individual task and completing it.

To the side, a single member of the Demon Court stood supervising over the two-man teams. Even without the pompous stature, Dean would have recognised him instantly. Crowley.

He carried a metal case with him, smooth and dark grey. Dean’s eyes zeroed in on it and he wondered what was inside. As Crowley set the case down, it appeared Dean was going to find out. Crowley produced a thick plastic container, long and thin and filled with the white powder. It appeared that the Court had figured out what to do here and it required grinding down the stolen bones into their powder form.

He set the powder down at his feet and pulled another object from the case. A stone bowl ornately decorated with runes and symbols that Dean didn’t recognise. He held it in his left hand while his right hand hung idly by his side.

Dean watched as Crowley barked an order at one of his men, but he didn’t dare turn on the sound to hear what was said. As the man approached, Crowley’s right hand lifted to reveal a long knife. The man immediately pulled up his sleeve, exposing his forearm and offering it to his leader. Something twitched in Crowley’s face and Dean knew what was about to happen a split second before he saw it on the screen.

The hand that was holding the knife whipped out at top speed and severed the man’s throat in a single movement. Blood spilled from the wound and Crowley held the man aloft by his hair, allowing the blood to dribble into the granite bowl. Dean watched, expressionless as the bowl was filled all the way to the top and the body discarded as if it was garbage. To the Court, he had outlived his purpose.

The contents of the bowl were added to the blood powder. Even a single drop of blood would have triggered the transformation, but it was obvious that Crowley didn’t plan to spend a second longer than he had to down here. When he was at last clutching a full container of blood, Dean knew he had to make his move. The apparatus was set up and whatever the Court were doing, it would happen now. This was his only chance.

“Blackout in twenty seconds,” Dean whispered. His hand moved to the transmitter that would detonate all their flash and sonic bombs. “Take out as many as you can, but don’t take any chances. If they pin us down, we’re screwed. Let them think there’s more of us than there is, and they might run. Radio silence for thirty seconds, ear plugs in and eyes closed. Everyone confirm?”

“ _Hilts, confirmed._ ”

“ _Banshee, confirmed_.”

“ _Wayward, confirmed._ ” Claire’s tone was strong and unwavering. She was ready for battle.

Sam was over by the doors and Eileen and Claire were ducked into another crypt, concealed from view. The assault team here were completely unaware of their presence, and Dean was about to make them sorry for it. He watched the men exit the tomb area, leaving only Crowley behind. They closed the gate and Dean scowled. Crowley would escape the damage from the bombs.

He watched as Crowley lifted a hand to his ear, presumably giving the warning that he was about to proceed.

Dean replaced his ear piece with some ear plugs and snapped a blackout visor over his eyes. He counted down silently, one hand on his pistol and the other on the transmitter. _Five, four, three_. Blindly, he raised his gun, fully prepared to move as soon as he could. _Two, one._

He hit the button.

Even though he was deafened by the ear plugs, the vibrations of the sonic charges packed a punch, the rumble shaking the floor and felt mostly within his chest. Dean counted to three for the flash grenades to expire, before he tore off his visor and ripped out his ear plugs. Gunshots and shouts were already echoing across the necropolis and Dean smiled, rolling into the doorway of the mausoleum that sheltered him.

The platform was empty. The two men were gone, and Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

Dean’s chest thudded wildly. How? Where? This wasn’t possible.

More shots were fired but Dean didn’t glance around. His team still had the advantage, they could hold their own. Remembering the communications between Crowley and an unknown source before Dean had detonated the charges, he was suddenly aware they must have been tipped off. By who? Who in the Vatican had seen them and been able to warn the Court? Trying not to think about what that meant for Jack, Dean climbed the platform.

The world had returned to shades of green and silver now. He approached the window, wanting to get a better look inside the tomb before he went for the gate. When he was only a few steps away, light flared inside. Crowley was standing only a few inches away from the glass, staring at Dean in satisfaction. In one hand, he clutched a trigger of his own.

Even without knowing their apparatus, Dean knew that this would activate the blood powder, although the effect it would have was still unknown. It might do nothing. It might infect every single one of his team, or the civilians far above them.

Dean raised his gun and fired directly between Crowley’s eyes.

The bulletproof glass repelled the bullet, leaving it to ricochet to the right, uselessly.

Without breaking eye contact, Crowley smiled and pushed the button.


	10. Necropolis

**APRIL 24TH, 11:01 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

The shockwaves deprived Jack and Father Ishim of the ground beneath their feet. They toppled, unable to keep standing with the rippling vibrations from below.

Screams and cries echoed through the nave.

As Jack fell, he recovered quicker than Father Ishim. All the burning rage he felt at the man’s betrayal of his religion and his station burned through Jack and he lashed out with his foot. Boot connected with bone and sinew and Jack felt the thrill of vindication as Father Ishim’s nose exploded. His grasp on the pistol slackened and it tumbled to the floor, skidding out of reach.

The second tremor came upon them as quickly as the first, bringing about a fresh wave of screams, but these were quieter than before, as if Jack was underwater and the screams hailed from the surface. The basilica was vibrating, and Jack looked down at the floor beneath his feet. It rippled and waved before his very eyes, as though the very structure had been compromised on a molecular level.

He knew what was happening. He’d read Jesse Cuevas’ account of what happened in Lyon, about the pressure in his ears as it felt like the walls were squeezing in on themselves. He was experiencing it now. Scrambling to his knees, Jack braced himself for a moment of reprieve in the tremors. When he found it, he jumped up, giving Father Ishim another vicious kick as he passed.

“ _Stronzo_!” He scowled as he passed. Ishim could wait. Jack needed to do his duty and protect the Pope. _Asshole_.

Jack pushed his way into the nave, squeezing past the rows of terrified parishioners. All of them were crouching low in their seats or grasping onto the floor as if it was the only thing stopping the building falling apart. Jack paid them no heed, his eyes fixed on the spot where the Pope and Cardinal Duma sat. Duma looked more alert now, his ailments forgotten in favour of the danger to the Pope. The Swiss Guard were fighting their way to the canopy, but Jack intended to get there first.

The ground lurched again, more violently than before. Cracks began to spread across the floor and up the columns. Stone and plaster began to crumble away. It was all coming down.

 

 **11:05 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Sam dragged himself up onto all fours, groggily. His cheek was stinging, and he could feel the slickness of blood where it had been cut. His body ached in places he knew would be black and blue the next day. One of his contacts had slipped out, lost to the piles of stone and rubble surrounding him. He was blind now, his eyes unable to focus on the mix between night vision and blackness. Swiping away the lens, Sam felt around for his weapon. He’d been unable to hold onto it without the shockwaves.

The night vision scope would be the only thing that could help him see now.

The gunfire had stopped, which was his saving grace. He’d be a sitting duck right now if everyone started shooting again. Blind and weaponless, he was angry at himself for not expecting something like this. He was a decorated soldier. What was he thinking, losing his weapon? On his first day of training, his commanding officer had told him that the only thing keeping him alive in the field was his weapon. Sam had never forgotten those words.

He reached forward, feeling around blindly. The shotgun couldn’t have gone too far, no more than a couple of feet. His fingertips met something hard and smooth and he sighed with relief.

Reaching forward, Sam realised his mistake the second his hand closed around the object. It wasn’t his shotgun. It was a boot, thick and leather and not ARTEMIS-issued.

He froze as the barrel of a rifle pressed against the back of his neck, almost daring him to move.

 _Crap_.

 

 **11:06 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Dean heard the rifle blast from his position across the necropolis. The first one since the quakes had thrown them all to the floor. When the tremors had started, Dean had been launched off the platform and landed near the mausoleum where his tablet was currently hiding. He’d recovered quickly, rolling into a somersault using the momentum of being propelled to his advantage. The impact did far less damage as he landed with one foot flat on the floor, braced with his other knee. He still had his gun and his contacts had survived, but his microphone was long gone.

He looked around, checking he was still clear. Before the tremors he had been the only one on his side of the necropolis. That was still the case. The window through to St. Peter’s tomb was dark again, and Dean couldn’t see what was going on. He could feel their last chance to find the clue for themselves slipping away, but he couldn’t lay siege to the gate alone. It would be suicide.

He rolled back into the mausoleum. Hopefully the cameras had survived and were still transmitting.

They were.

Dean lay flat on his front, pistol aimed at the entrance to his hiding spot as he tapped on the tablet screen. The image flickered unsteadily, but it was there. The camera pointing towards the others was black, showing nothing but darkness. There was no sign of the rest of his team and the stray gunshot hadn’t been followed by any more. Everything was silent again.

Dean’s eyes turned to the other screen. The tomb looked similar to how he remembered it, but there was something that Dean couldn’t put his finger on. Something had changed, but what was it? There was no sign of Crowley either, the man seemed to have vanished entirely. Yet he hadn’t left through the gate and there was no other way out. The image flickered again, vibrating as if the cameras were picking up the hum of the machine Crowley had triggered.

But where _was_ Crowley?

Dean tapped the screen and swiped left, rewinding it back two minutes to check what happened. He started as soon as he saw Crowley trigger his device. On screen, he turned to watch the result behind him as Dean was propelled through the air. The room began to vibrant, the floor pulsing and warping along with every structure on the screen.

Not every structure, Dean realised.

The pedestal remained unaffected by the pulsing of the machine. While the other structures twisted and rippled and arched, the pedestal that held St. Peter’s stone aloft was firm, solid. Crowley had noticed it too, his expression filled with grim satisfaction. Dean pressed two fingers to the screen and spread them, zooming in on the container of blood that Crowley now held. The lid was removed, and then Crowley poured every drop onto the pedestal.

Nothing happened for five seconds. Dean could see the moment of uncertainty on Crowley’s face as the dramatic effect he was anticipating failed to occur. Then it happened.

The pedestal began to melt, what had once appeared to be solid stone darkened and turned to blood. St. Peter’s tomb sank down into the viscous liquid that was now pooling at the sides. Dean watched, eyes wide, as the blood spread out into the room and then sank through the cracks in the floor. He hadn’t expected the second part of the riddle to be so literal, and yet there it was.

_The map will be shown in waters of blood._

Dean began to understand the relevance of the machine and the bones and how they all fit together. He even thought he understood how the virus worked now, at least from a scientific perspective.

He knew what had killed the guards back in Lyon.

The camera feed jumped violently and cut off, restoring itself after ten seconds. Crowley was descending into a hole in the floor that had been concealed beneath the pedestal. So that was where he’d gone. Dean watched him climb down, finding footholds somewhere in his climb. Probably a ladder.

Dean sped the video back up. There were a few bursts of light that Dean recognised as camera flashes. What Crowley had found down there, he was documenting it.

Only seconds later, he climbed back up, reappearing in the tomb with a smug expression. He’d gotten what he came for.

With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Dean realised what Crowley’s next move would be.

He’d be coming for them.

 

 **11:07 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Eileen had managed to get a single shot off from her hiding position on the roof of one of the mausoleums. She’d taken out the gunmen who had been holding the rifle to Sam’s head, his shot going wide as he fell, but her triumph was short lived. The next tremor knocked her off the roof, the gun clattering to one side uselessly. The remaining guard beside Sam didn’t hesitate. He looked directly in the direction Eileen had fallen and hit Sam in the back of the head with the hilt of a large, jagged knife.

Seeing Sam’s head slump forward and the knife now pressed to his throat, Eileen felt rage burn through her like she had only experienced once before in her life.

“Come out, or I cut his throat right here,” the man called out. Eileen couldn’t place his accent, the muffled distortion through her implanted earpiece destroying any chance of identifying it, but she didn’t really care. What difference did his accent make when his words were so clear?

She couldn’t lose another teammate.

She’d been set for promotion to Commander on her last field mission. Despite her _shortcomings_ , as her commander had referred to her impairment, she had proven herself to be one of the most capable agents in military intelligence. Her eight years were almost up, and she was all set to re-enlist for another eight. There was just one more mission left. But she’d been betrayed by her contact. They were ambushed. Eileen had managed to get her squad to safety but at the cost of her own freedom.

Captured on enemy soil, she resigned herself to what was to come. Torture and indignity for the rest of her life, which was bound to be short. She was in the hands of the enemy for two weeks before her squad came for her. They hadn’t broken her, but her hands were unsteady as they were shooting their way out of the camp. She’d cleared herself and her squad a path out, but in her haste to get free she’d been sloppy. A single gunshot and her second-in-command went down. She wouldn’t leave him behind. They’d gotten him out, but it had been too late. Eileen could still remember how it felt, how her hands had been slick with his blood as she tried to save his life.

He had been like a brother to her, and he had died in her arms because of her carelessness. When she’d healed, she’d received a medal and an honourable discharge. They painted her as a military hero, but her discharge back to civilian life said otherwise. She had failed.

She couldn’t feel like that again. Not here. Not with Sam.

“You have three seconds, bitch.” The man called out, distorted and tinny from his distance to her microphone. “Do you want to watch him die?”

“ _Eileen_ ,” Claire whispered. She was still on the roof, had managed to grasp onto a jutting piece of stone at the last tremor, saving herself from a nasty plummet.

“Stay hidden,” Eileen told her firmly. “Try to climb the ropes up and out.” That had been their original plan, to try and reach one of the scaling ropes where the Demon Court had entered. If just one of them got up there, they could raise the alarm and gather reinforcements. That plan couldn’t fail.

But Eileen could no longer be a part of it.

She ducked out from behind the mausoleum, her hands raised, her pistol hanging loosely from her fingers to show she wouldn’t shoot. Sam looked up at her and Eileen met his eyes, unflinching and unashamed. He might think her weak for her surrender, but she would not be the one to tell Dean his brother was dead. Not her, and not today. Tossing the gun to one side, she laced her fingers behind her head and approached.

“I surrender.”

Her eyes lowered to the knife at Sam’s throat as she drew closer. It had dug in a little deeper as she had tossed the pistol away, but now it relaxed, the point shifting down from Sam’s neck.

Eileen flicked her wrist, the dagger from her wrist sheath flying into her hands. A second flick and the blade moved forward, burying itself in the man’s neck. Not a sound escaped him as he fell back, dragging Sam with him. Dropping, Eileen twisted around and yanked a blade from her boot and tossed it in the direction Sam’s eyes had flickered as they met. An awful choking, gurgling sound followed, and a man fell from the shadows, her dagger sticking out of his neck.

Sam struggled to his feet, dizzy and confused by the blow to his head. He looked rough. “Lost my lenses. I’m blind,” he warned her, taking the knife from the man who had restrained him.

They didn’t have time to find him a spare pair. Sam reached for the visor attached to the corpse next to him, but it had cracked as he fell. Eileen would just have to guide him. She slid his arm around her shoulder and took the brunt of his weight. He was heavy, but not as heavy as the corpse of her former comrade.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

She turned and immediately recoiled as a flashlight was shone directly in her face. The brightness was abrupt, but not as blinding as it could have been thanks to the DARPA technology in their contacts allowing for the adjustment. But those few seconds of her blinking were precious, and she’d wasted them.

The sound of a gun cocking filled her with dread.

She’d missed someone. Again.

 

 **11:10 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

From where he was watching on the cameras, Dean’s caught the sudden surge of light from the flashlight, deep in the necropolis. That couldn’t be good.

His instinct was right. On one side of the screen, Crowley was listening to his radio, his smug smile widening. On the other side, Dean saw Sam and Eileen being marched out at gunpoint, hands secured with zip ties. Goddamnit.

They were pointed up to the top of the platform, each of them unsteady as they climbed the steep steps with no hands. Dean watched, pain flooding his body at the sight of his brother and his teammate in danger.

Crowley stayed behind the gate, the device still running and causing the ground to ripple and tremble intermittently. One of Crowley’s guards was standing outside the window, the other had gone down under the tomb. Dean wished he was able to see what was down there.

“ _Commander Winchester! Show yourself or watch as I kill your teammates. I’ll start with that brother of yours. You too, Professor Novak_.”

Dean stayed where he was, helplessness flooding through him. He didn’t have the required force to swing this in his favour. There was only himself and Claire, they couldn’t attempt a rescue with any chance of success. But if he gave in and surrendered, he would just be handing his own life over. Crowley wouldn’t hesitate to kill them anyway. He closed his eyes, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let Sammy die without doing everything he could. He’d have to give himself up.

“I’m coming!” Claire called out before Dean could do anything. She stepped into the camera’s view, and Dean saw she had her hands in her air. He pursed his lips, remembering the silent promise he made to Jack.

One of the guards stopped forward and collected Claire, taking her over to join the others. Crowley stepped out of the gate, shoving a pistol into Sam’s shoulder. “ _Five seconds, Commander, or I’ll start shooting off body parts. I won’t miss!_ ”

Dean stared at the screen, mind racing. He couldn’t let that happen, but if he gave himself up, they were all dead. And if he stayed, there was still no way out. Crowley would take or destroy the clue hidden here and they would have died for nothing. Sammy would die for nothing. Dean closed his eyes. He never had any choice to begin with.

“ _Five!_ ”

He locked the tablet and stashed it. He only had one play left and if it didn’t work then he had to trust that ARTEMIS would find it, that it would show everything that happened down here.

“ _Four_!”

Dean grabbed a single item from his pack and crawled out of the mausoleum, sticking to the shadows so they wouldn’t figure out where he came from. The tablet was the only clue he could leave ARTEMIS, he couldn’t let it fall into the Court’s hands.

“ _Three_!”

In his last few seconds of peace, Dean reflected on how he would have left anyone but Sammy to be killed only a few months ago. He would have tactically sacrificed his teammate in order to keep going if Sam was safe. That wasn’t the case anymore. He thought of Eileen and of Claire. Even if Sammy was safe, he wouldn’t have left them to die.

They had earned his trust and his respect over the last two days. He would hesitate to use the word family, but he liked and cared for them. They had his back and now he would have theirs.

“ _Two_!”

Dean ducked into the main street and laced his fingers on top of his head, stepping into sight. “I’m here. Don’t shoot.”

 

 **11:12 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Claire could see by the look on Dean’s face as he was marched up to them, that she had made the wrong move. He didn’t look impressed at all by her surrender. Resentment burned within her. She had been repeatedly told that she was a civilian and didn’t have their kind of training, and yet she was expected to make this decision. She’d weighed up her options tactically and hoped her surrender would have bought Dean even a few precious seconds to save them, or at least himself.

A bitter voice in the back of her head reminded her that she had also been selfish. She hadn’t wanted to be the only one left, hiding as the others were killed.

While Eileen had given herself up to save Sam, she’d had a rescue plan in place. It hadn’t worked out, but she’d tried. Claire supposed that she should have done that, instead of placing all her faith in Dean.

Crowley nudged her to one side, stepping in front of her as Dean reached the platform and began to climb. The Desert Eagle that had been pressed into Sam’s shoulder was now pointing at Dean’s chest. From the look in Dean’s eyes, it seemed like he had accepted his end. Even Claire knew that the body armour wouldn’t stop a bullet like that. It would shoot a hole straight through Dean’s chest.

“You’ve caused me a lot of bloody trouble, but that stops now.” Crowley told him silkily. “You can die knowing that even when I lose, I win.”

Dean wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Claire, then Eileen and finally Sam, making sure each of their eyes were on him. Claire’s eyes widened. He had a plan. But what was it?

He parted his hands on top of his head, revealing a black egg, like the pack he’d given Eileen earlier, and spoke a single word.

“Blackout.”

 

 **11:13 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Dean had counted on one thing for this plan. That the attention of everyone would be on him when he surrendered. The flash grenade exploded above his head. Without the blackout visor, the strobing flare still burned through his eyelids, but the damage was lessened severely.

Blinded, he dropped to the floor and rolled to one side. The ear-splitting boom of Crowley’s pistol echoed above his head, but it had missed him. Dean pulled his own pistol from his boot, glad he hadn’t been frisked before Crowley attempted to shoot him.

As the strobe ended, Dean opened his eyes. One of Crowley’s men was sprawled across the floor, bleeding heavily. Dean didn’t look too closely, but it seemed as though he had taken the shot meant for Dean.

Crowley recovered quickly and dove off the platform, shooting blinding back at them. He had been looking directly at the flash bomb as it had gone off, it would take him another ten seconds at least to recover. The sightlessness didn’t stop him from shooting though, seemingly uncaring who he hit. From below, he had a much better chance at hitting them accidentally, so Dean took action.

“Get through the gate!” He hissed to his teammates, hanging back to cover for them. He fired a few shots as he followed.

Crowley’s gun had gone silent for the moment, but Dean figured as soon as he had reloaded, the barrage would continue. The bulletproof glass would take the heat off for a short while, but with no help coming from above, Dean knew it was only a matter of time before they ran out of options. Already he could hear shouts from further in the necropolis, the rest of the assault team was returning to aid their comrades.

And Dean only had one magazine left.

They backed up and Dean heard a gasp behind him. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Claire flailing and grabbing onto Eileen to try and steady herself. She must have been affected by the flash grenade and in her blindness, had stepped back into the hole. Dean watched as her grasp on Eileen over-balanced them both and they tumbled below.

“Crap,” Sam cursed, looking up for direction.

Dean shrugged. “Down we go.” It was the only respite they had, they couldn’t hold off the gunfire forever. Besides, they had to go down there to recover the clue.

Sam went first, tightening his zip ties and breaking them open against his chest, so he had the use of his hands again. Unlike Claire and Eileen, who had stumbled in, Sam descended carefully while Dean covered him once again.

A loud gunshot and a chunk of rock only a few inches from Dean’s face detached from the tomb. Crowley had reloaded. Dean looked back at him, ignoring the ugly scowl on Crowley’s face. The device was still active, making the floor unsteady and causing infrequent tremors. He suspected that was the only thing keeping the hole open. He made a choice, pointing his gun at the machine and firing.

As the bullet found its target, the machine shorted and the tremors stopped. Dean sighed as he felt the pressure in his ears disappear with a loud _pop_! Everything came back to into focus, everything louder than it had been moments before.

A howl of anger from Crowley told him he’d made the right choice. Dean dove down through the hole as a loud grinding sound implied the closure of whatever mechanism had opened it in the first place. He hit the bottom, missing Sam by a few inches. Darkness descended as the mechanism sealed, effectively trapping them. Even so, he could hear the repeated gunshots. Crowley wasn’t giving up so easily.

But there was no way he’d get down here, Dean realised. There was at least thirty feet of stone between them and the floor above.

“Commander!”

He turned just in time to see what Eileen’s flashlight had picked up. She had managed to free herself from her zip ties and untangle herself from Claire, and had been looking around the cavern they found themselves in.

He approached, looking at the strange smooth slab that Eileen had found. It had etchings on it that Dean wouldn’t have been able to make out in normal circumstances, but these were anything but normal circumstances. He reached out, guiding the beam upwards and found the source. Black liquid was trickling down from a mechanism above, spreading through the etchings and making them visible.

 

 

 

It took Dean a second to realise the liquid wasn’t black, because the absence of proper light made it look so. It was blood. He studied the markings carefully, taking note of the unusual sandy-coloured stone it had been carved into. The line didn’t seem to represent any kind of sigil or language, it didn’t look like it meant anything at all. If it wasn’t for the presence of a star-shaped area near the bottom centre, acting as some kind of drainage for the blood, Dean would have thought it was simply a crack in the stone.

Dean wished he knew what it all meant.

Before he could take a picture of the image, Sam whistled, drawing his full attention. There was something of far more pressing concern.

“Dean, over here.”

Dean joined him. Settled in the corner was a familiar silver dumbbell. He might not have seen the one in Lyon personally, but he had experienced its effects. An incendiary bomb. A timer slowly counted down, a stark contrast in the darkness.

_00:03:57._

_00:03:56._

So, that was what the other guard had been doing after Crowley had finished taking photographs. They were once again planning to destroy any evidence of the clues.

“It’s rigged to blow against tampering,” Sam sighed, studying it carefully.

Dean pursed his lips. Crowley had known this was down here the whole time. Perhaps his anger had simply been to instil a sense of false security in Dean, so he would order his team down here where he thought it was safe. He glanced back at the sandstone slab and sighed as the last of the blood drained away and the map disappeared.

It looked like they would all die for nothing.

_00:03:19._

_00:03:18._

_00:03:17._

 

 **11:14 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

Jack had just managed to find safe seating with the Pope and Cardinal Duma when the pressure released. The rippling, pulsing energy that had been tearing the plaster from the walls disappeared, leaving no trace of structural instability. It left behind nothing but fear in its wake.

He’d been able to steer Cardinal Duma and the Pope into the chapel where the pressure wasn’t so bad, and the structure was sounder. At least, there was less plaster likely to rain down on their heads. Jack risked a peek back into the basilica. The parishioners were calming down, checking for injuries and finding their feet. Looking up at the inside of the basilica’s dome, Jack privately thought it was simply an act of God that had stopped the basilica from coming down.

That, or the flawless engineering of Michelangelo.

“Is it over?” Duma asked. The excitement had taken its toll on him and he was forced to have one of the Swiss Guard call for medical help. He had an oxygen mask but had taken it off to talk. Jack wondered what had happened to his superior in such a short time.

Jack shook his head, but it wasn’t an answer. He didn’t have one yet. Now that the safety of His Holiness had been ensured, Jack was free to work out what the pulsing meant. Obviously, the Demon Court had arrived and activated the bones in some way. What had happened to the others?

A tall, imposing figure strode into the basilica, shouting orders with a familiarity to his command. Jack turned and relief flooded through him at the sight of the man marching towards him. General Adam Milligan. He truly was a sight for sore eyes. Jack now understood why order was being restored to the basilica. The Swiss Guard now had the full power of the Carabinieri behind them.

“What is His Holiness still doing here?” Adam demanded, nodding towards the Pope.

Jack had no time to explain. “We have to get below, to St. Peter’s tomb. Claire is down there.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “Claire? I received word from the station that there was to be an attack.” He lowered his voice significantly. “The Americans have been in contact and looped me in, but Claire didn’t say she was coming here herself!”

Jack wanted to shake the General, to make him see the urgency of everything he was feeling. Claire could be dead, and Adam was complaining about not being informed of their plans. “Please, gather as many men as you can. We must get down there and provide support.”

Something about Jack’s intense panic must have gotten through to Adam, because he gave a sharp nod, barking commands to every single one of his men. A dozen black-clad men surrounded him instantly, armed with assault weapons.

“This way.” Jack led them towards the sacristy door where he’d left Claire and the others not too long ago. But to Jack and his racing heart, it felt like hours ago. Anything could have happened in the meantime.

They had to be safe. There was no other option.

 

 **11:15 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Dean dropped to his knees, helping Sam look over the incendiary device. Their flashlights weren’t providing enough light, so Dean had found Sam a new pair of contact lenses to aid his examination of the bomb.

“Can you disarm it?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “With another five minutes on the clock and some better lighting, maybe. Like this, no. You?”

Dean shook his head in response, thinking of the tools in his pack, abandoned in the mausoleum above them. This felt all too familiar, a ticking time bomb that would result in his death and not enough time to disarm it. Unfortunately, this time he had no roof to throw the bomb off. His thoughts drifted to Castiel. He hadn’t made an appearance after all. Dean wondered what angle he was playing.

_00:02:33._

_00:02:32_.

He turned away. He wasn’t going to spend the last two minutes of his life staring at a timer. Eileen and Claire were studying the mechanism that opened and closed the entrance to their prison. Maybe they’d found a way up.

“It’s a crude sort of pressure plate,” Eileen sensed his approach without evening turning around. An impressive feat, considering she couldn’t hear his echoing footsteps. “It’s the weight of the tomb that holds the ramp closed. But if you lift the weight then the gravity counterweight will open the entrance.”

“Wait, St. Peter’s tomb is the weight on the pressure plate?”

“Here’s the stabilising pin. When the plate was initially weighed down with the tomb, that was pulled to lock it in place. After that, the only way to open the entrance is to move St. Peter’s tomb. But the Court didn’t move the tomb, did they?”

“Yes,” Dean breathed. “The pedestal it was sitting on. It was made of the blood powder. Crowley poured blood onto it and it just kind of dissolved. It was… like nothing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of weird crap.”

“How did it work?” Eileen asked. “Maybe now that weight is gone, we can open the door from the inside. Tell me everything.”

Dean explained everything he’d seen Crowley do on the cameras, how he’d activated the blood powder and then turned on the machine, seeing how everything reacted to the pulse except for the pedestal.

“I think the machine is like a chemical version of an electromagnetic pulse. It emits some kind of signal that alters the molecular structure of non-organic material. Which is why people aren’t affected by it and also why the mutagen is activated. Assume the mutagen is a virus. Viruses aren’t living organisms, they just act like it when they’re within a host body. Outside of being ingested and bonded with a live bloodstream, whatever virus the powder holds is inert.”

Eileen nodded, following him so far. “Alright. So, the pulse affected everything but the pedestal.”

“I think the reason the Demon Court needed the bones is to calibrate that device. I’m not sure where they got it and I’m not sure we’ll ever know how they made the connection, but I think the bones were made of the same chemical composition as the pedestal. So the device could pick up what to do when the Court got here. Unfortunately, that means we have no way out.”

Eileen sighed, recognising what Dean was telling her. “Because the blood powder is weightless, so the pedestal being gone doesn’t take any weight away from the pressure plate. The tomb itself floated briefly in the pool of blood which released the counterweight down here and the pulse from the device kept it open. But now the pulse is gone, so if we want to get out, we need to move the tomb above us.”

Dean looked back at the timer.

_00:01:41._

 

 **11:16 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

With the Carabinieri right behind him, Jack rushed down the spiral stairs. So far, there was no sign of trespassing, no evidence that the Demon Court had been here. Yet, he knew without a doubt they had been. He made for the narrow door to which he had given Claire the keys earlier.

“Wait!” General Milligan called. “Let one of my men go in first. There could still be hostiles.”

Jack paid him no heed. All he knew was that his sister and his friends were down there, and he needed to be sure they were okay. Guilt flooded him. He should never have left them; his presence might have made all the difference to their chances. Jack pushed those thoughts away. He didn’t know for certain anything had happened to the others yet. They were smart, resilient and they’d defied the Demon Court at every turn so far. They could have escaped before the pulse.

If only he hadn’t taken so long to reach Duma...

Jack reached the door and hit the latch, relieved it was unlocked. Claire had his only key.

Pushing against the door, it didn’t budge. He took a step back and shoved at it with his shoulder, but it held. He lifted the latch and tried again, thrusting his shoulder into the door with all his weight behind it. It didn’t even wobble. It was as if the door had been blocked from the other side.

Alarm spreading across his features, Jack met Adam’s eyes.

“Something’s wrong.”

 

 **11:16 PM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Claire stared as the timer reached a minute and then ticked below. Her heart raced in her chest as she tried desperately to think of something that would save their lives.

“There must be another way out.”

Dean shook his head, dismissing her comment as wishful thinking. It reminded her of his earlier judgemental stance towards her surrender, and she felt an inferno of anger building up in her chest. She was not a child, she was not about to have her opinion dismissed. She might not know how to disable a bomb or assess a foreign mechanism, but she was intelligent, and she knew when something didn’t add up.

“There are no bones here,” she snapped, digging through her pack until she found what she was looking for. A book of matches. “How do you explain that?”

Everyone turned to her, none of them seeming to understand her logic. Idiots. They were wasting precious time. “Eileen said that someone had to pull the stabilising pin when the mechanism was first set. If that’s true, he would have been trapped here. _So, where are his bones_?”

Eileen’s eyes widened.

Dean inhaled sharply. “There must be another way out.”

“That’s literally what I just said, verbatim.” Claire struck a match and walked around each wall, checking the ceiling and the floor for any sign of grooves, a trapdoor, a hidden exit. A single flicker would mean a breeze, and a breeze would mean an exit.

She looked back at the timer.

_00:00:28._

“Here,” Sam called out. He’d ducked under the slab of sandstone and heaved it up with his weight. From the pained expression on his face, it was heavy and taking all his strength. But his efforts revealed a dark hole. A passage out. It was narrow, Dean realised. Eileen and Claire would fit, but it would be a squeeze for himself and Sam. “Quickly.”

He didn’t need the encourage them. The timer was incentive enough.

Claire went first, sliding through with her feet leading the way. It was smooth, slippery, a steep decline into nothingness, but they didn’t have a lot of time left. Eileen followed suit, bracing against the sides to stop herself skidding down too far.

Dean glanced at the timer. Twelve seconds. He dove headfirst between Sam’s legs, sliding down into tunnel. “Now, Sammy!”

“Yep,” Sam grunted. He relaxed and let the weight of the slab force him inside the chute.

“Down further,” Dean grunted. “We need to get down as far as possible.”

Claire let go and felt her body move of its own accord. She skidded down the tunnel as if she was on a slip and slide, with Eileen hot on her tails.

The explosion sent an blaze of flames flickering around the edges of the slab, but they were all already out of reach. Consciously aware that she had no way to stop or control her speed or direction, Claire just let herself slide down the dingy, cramped tunnel. Whatever was at the bottom had to be better than was up there, right?

“What’s that noise?” Dean bellowed.

Claire strained her ears to listen. It was like static, continuous white noise that was growing louder by the second. Almost like a rush of moving water.

Her eyes widened.

_Fuck._

 

 **11:31 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

“Ugh,” Claire’s teeth chattered.

Dean couldn’t exactly blame her. He was numb from head-to-toe, the bodysuit not affording any kind of thermal insulation against swimming in the Tiber. They’d trampled out of the river, wet, muddy and feeling thoroughly peeved.

Eileen looked completely miserable, hair still dripping into her eyes. Dean watched as Sam wrapped his arms around Eileen and pulled her into his chest, rubbing her shoulders and back. It was a smart idea, sharing body heat to try and warm up, but a glance at Claire digging through her backpack and finding her spare clothes dripping wet made Dean decide that it wasn’t the route he would be taking.

“Here.” Dean reached around to his pack. His ARTEMIS-issued bag was flameproof and waterproof, so his clothes had fared better than hers. He pulled out a spare shirt and offered it to Claire. “You should put this on. It’s dry and the flannel is thick. It’ll help.”

Claire nodded, taking the shirt gratefully. Dean held her jacket as he stripped it off and dutifully turned his back, providing cover from the street as Claire stripped off her current shirt, pulling Dean’s plaid button-down on. It swamped her, but it didn’t look too out of place on her short frame.

“Thanks.” she shivered. “That feels so much better.”

She didn’t look much warmer, her skin almost greyish and her hair still dripping onto the fresh shirt. They needed to get back to Vatican City and warm up before hypothermia kicked in. Swimming in the Tiber in the middle of April wasn’t the best plan they’d ever had.

Dean looked around. Their escape had dumped them into an underground stream, the icy water a shock to all their systems. They’d followed the flow of water in the hopes that the end result would be somewhere familiar. The water had taken them into an underground sewer that was a maze of channels and walkways. But now they were out, and Dean could see St. Peter’s towering over the streets of Rome. They weren’t too far away.

Sam smoothed his hair back, wringing out the river water and shaking himself. Dean rolled his eyes and once more wished Sam had more practical hair, like he had back in their SEAL days.

“One question.” Eileen shivered, pressing herself back into Sam’s broad chest once he was done. “If they had a back door, why did we have to go in the long way?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Claire muttered. Her continuous shivering subsided to the occasional shudder, the dry shirt doing its job.

“Could you navigate your way back through those passages? And then find the exact point where we dropped into the stream, or the way out of the stream back up the chute we slid down? I couldn’t.” Dean pointed out. He’d been thinking that as well. “Whoever designed that whole clue, they made sure nobody could stumble across it accidentally. They even had it set up so that you had to both solve the riddle and have a basic idea of what the blood powder did, and how the machine affected it.”

“A test,” Sam realised.

Dean nodded. “A test of passage. Like in the last Indiana Jones movie with the Holy Grail. No, do _not_ tell me that there’s a fourth movie, Sam, so help me I will kick your ass. Nobody appreciates what Harrison Ford has done for movies more than I do,” he pointedly ignored Sam’s snort, “But that movie was an abomination.”

He glanced up to St. Peter’s, lit up against the sky. Even from here he could see the red and blue flickers of the Carabinieri sirens. The best he could hope for at this stage was that there hadn’t been too many casualties.

“Come on, let’s get back to the Vatican. We need to find out what happened.”

“And have a bath, some food, and some sleep,” Sam told him. “We’re burned out, Dean. We need to rest and figure out our next step.”

Dean didn’t argue.

 

 **APRIL 25TH, 12:48 AM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

An hour later, Claire forgot that she’d ever been cold. She was still damp and filthy and desperate to shower, but that had to wait. Upon their arrival at Vatican City, they were so bedraggled and dirty that the Swiss Guard had refused them entry. The resulting explosion, which she now felt a small amount of shame for, had almost resulted in her taking a swing at the stubborn guard. But she’d been annoyed with the pressures placed on her as a civilian, the way nobody seemed to be listening to her, and this had been the final straw.

Thankfully, one of the nearby Carabiniere lieutenants who was keeping an eye out, called in her arrival to General Milligan and an emotional Jack had arrived. His presence ensured the ARTEMIS team and Claire were ushered inside and she had embraced him tearfully. Both had feared the worst for each other. Now they were all gathered in Cardinal Duma’s office, an office Claire remembered from her brief visit at the start of their mission. It had seemed so simple then. She was only supposed to go and catalogue an inventory of lost Vatican treasures and then return home.

That had been barely more than two days ago, and she’d hardly spared a thought towards her responsibilities, as a girlfriend, as a professor and employee. She’d just up and left and if it hadn’t been for Kaia’s presence in Venice, she might not have thought about her at all. Claire wondered what that said about her as a person. Of course she loved Kaia with all her heart, but there was something about the thrill of this kind of mission, the rush it gave her. She’d never felt anything like it.

Jack’s hand squeezed hers, grounding her. They hadn’t let go of each other since they’d been reunited, even through their brief description of the Demon Court’s attack.

“They’re gone?” Dean asked.

Jack nodded. “Even the bodies. It took us ten minutes to break through the door they riveted shut. All we found were some discarded weapons and a broken device that we can now assume was the machine you referred to. It seems the Court left the way they came in.”

“Through the roof.”

Cardinal Duma spoke up, his voice raspy and hoarse even despite his calm demeanour. He’d refused his oxygen tank yet again, refusing to show physical weakness while dealing with official Vatican matters. Claire privately thought him very foolish. He’d obviously had a severe heart attack. He shouldn’t even be out of bed yet, let alone handling the responsibility of this attack.

“At least the bones of St. Peter are safe. The damage to the basilica and tomb can be repaired. If we had lost the relics… everything they represent is not so easily replaced. The Vatican owes you an enormous debt.”

A selfish part of Claire decided she would remind the Vatican of that debt the next time she applied for access to their Archives.

“How many civilian casualties?” she asked, instead.

Adam looked down at his file. “None. Cuts, bruises, a couple of broken bones from people who were stupid enough to try and climb the walls. Most of the damage was done by the crowd. The quakes mostly just caused cosmetic damage.”

“And this… cavern below the tomb? What did you find?”

“Nothing.” Dean spoke up before anyone else could. He turned to Jack, eyes warning him to stay silent. None of them had told Jack of the events below yet, but Claire knew her brother was likely to push for details. “There was a large stone slab that had some kind of symbol on it, but the incendiary device will have scorched it beyond recognition by now. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to uncover what was down there.”

Claire understood why Dean wanted to keep their discovery to himself. Father Ishim had vanished in the chaos, disappearing as silently as the Demon Court. It was impossible to know who they could and couldn’t trust any more. Claire had always appreciated the historic value of conspiracies, but this was the first time she had ever believed in one. Cardinal Duma had promised to begin an investigation into Father Ishim’s room and personal effects, but nobody believed they would lead anywhere.

For now, the team was observing the utmost discretion.

“If we’re done, I think we could all do with a shower and sleep, before we see if we can figure out a way to catch up with the Demon Court.” Dean finished.

Duma rose. “Of course. I shall have someone show you to some rooms here. Food will be brought and your… clothing will be laundered. No doubt you will also want to look around the necropolis again yourself?”

Adam cleared his throat. “I’ll send one of my men with you. Our sweep was too brief for my liking, and you may be able to offer us some insight on where to look more closely.”

Dean nodded. “I’d appreciate that, General. I’ll find you when I get back,” he told the others. His eyes met Claire’s before drifting on, and she read the unspoken command in his gaze.

_Don’t talk about anything until I get back._

They would talk later, when they were all together again and hopefully clean, with stomachs full of rich Italian food.

Then they could discuss what they had really found below the tomb.

 

 **12:55 AM** **  
** **BENEATH VATICAN CITY**

Dean searched the mausoleum where he had hidden his tablet. He’d spent the last minutes talking to the Carabiniere Private sent with him, directing him to where Crowley had been the entire time. In the darkness, Dean found the crushed remains of his microphone, lost when he had been thrown from the platform.

But that was all he found.

His tablet was nowhere to be found and the Private swore up and down that nobody had discovered any equipment down here when they searched the necropolis. At least, nobody had announced finding anything. When he discovered that both cameras were missing too, Dean knew who had taken it. Someone who, despite knowing the location of the next clue, had been missing from the entire assault.

Castiel.

His jaw clenched, Dean stalked out of the necropolis and climbed the stairs. As he walked, he pushed away the anger in favour of mulling over the events of the night. He’d already figured out the purpose of the machine and now had some theories about the blood powder that he was quite confident about. All that remained was to bring the team up to speed, so they could work on figuring out the clue they had found below St. Peter’s tomb.

He was escorted to the suite of rooms that were provided to his team and by the time he pushed open the door, he was significantly calmer. Entering, Dean stopped dead and blinked, looking around at the extravagant decor. Rich tapestries, huge chandeliers, gilded furniture. This was a room for royalty, not a Kansas soldier.

“I thought religious people were supposed to take a vow of poverty, or whatever?”

Sam shrugged. He and Jack were the only people currently in the communal living room, the two females absent. “Guess not. Eileen and Claire are taking a bath, by the way. They shouldn’t be much longer. You find what you were looking for down there?”

“My tablet is gone,” Dean ground out. “I think Castiel crept in and stole it.”

Sam didn’t reply, just rubbed at his cheek, which was sporting a butterfly bandage.

Dean looked longingly at the fancy armchairs but decided he was much too filthy to sit on them, so he paced, waiting impatiently for the two female team members.

“Dude, you smell like a toilet,” Sam told him. “Go take a shower, and by the time you’re done, Eileen and Claire should be back.”

As much as he hated to delay the conversation, Dean wanted nothing more than to go and stand under a spray of hot water. He felt grimy and gross from head to toe and had almost forgotten what clean felt like.

“Yeah,” he sighed. Pacing wasn’t going to hurry the two women along, so he might as well shower. “Fine. I’ll be back soon.”

The shower was the most amazing experience of Dean’s life. Perfect water pressure, scented soap. He felt like a new man as he cleaned away the mud and dirty water. He used the whole bar of soap to get clean and shampooed his hair twice. When in Rome, and all that.

When he returned to the living room, dressed in clean clothes with a white robe over the top, Dean found everyone digging into plates of food. He settled down in the chair with a groan, pulling the nearest plate towards him. He was _starving_. Lunch in Venice had been so long ago, and they’d been burning calories nonstop since then.

Conversation was light as they ate, nobody willing to talk over such serious matters when there was good food to be had. Plates of fish risotto, spiced lamb, meatballs, aubergine parmigiana. They all ate their fill, washing it all down with pitchers of water.

Finally, Dean pushed his chair away from the table and sighed. Sam had been right, they had all been burnt out. This brief respite, plus a good night’s rest, would get them back on track. But first they all needed to debrief. Dean plucked an item from the pocket of his robe, a slim black rectangle, and clicked it.

“Now, we can talk freely,” Dean told Claire and Jack. The signal jammer would stop anyone from overhearing them. Dean had no doubt these rooms were bugged, and he was taking no chances. “Jack, can you get us out of here discreetly in the morning?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Why?”

“I want us off the grid again as soon as possible. No more check ins. With the Vatican or the Carabinieri, and nobody at ARTEMIS outside of Director Bradbury herself. And I mean nobody. The less people who know our moves from here, the better.”

“Where are we going?” Eileen asked.

“To find the next clue. After what happened tonight, I know for sure that we can’t let the Demon Court gain whatever knowledge lies at the end of this Da Vinci Code bullshit.”

Sam nodded, absently. “What the hell _did_ happen tonight? That device…”

“I think I figured that out,” Dean admitted. “Together with some information Jack shared with me in Venice and your idea on the train, Sam, I think I know a little about the device and the powder. I told you about my theory that the machine worked like a chemical EMP. The way an electromagnetic pulse affects the current and voltages that make up electric machinery, this device did the same thing on a molecular level, but only to non-organic material. It doesn’t affect anything living.”

“I think you’re right,” Eileen agreed. “From an engineering standpoint, it makes the most sense from what I saw. The ground was rippling but there was no actual structural damage. I think that’s what happened with the vault door in Lyon. The device changed the chemical composition of the door and made it easy to smash through, so they could recover the bones.”

Dean nodded. That had been his line of thinking as well.

“So, where did they even get the machine?”

“That’s not the question,” Dean shook his head. “The question you should be asking is something we’ve overlooked from the beginning.”

“Which is what?” Claire asked.

“How the Court poisoned the guards with the blood powder, when they hadn’t stolen the bones yet.” Silence met Dean’s words. “They poisoned the guards so they could get to the bones in the vault, and they went for the bones in Venice after that. So, where did they get the powder from?”

Sam’s brow furrowed in thought and irritation. Dean understood his frustration. It was something he felt too. How had they overlooked something so huge?

“I think the Court was onto this for years before they discovered that riddle in the Book of Life. I think they already had some powder and the machine already. The reason they went for the other bones is because the powder they had wasn’t completely identical. The chemical ratios weren’t a complete match, so they weren’t sure it would work and they only had the one shot at getting this right.”

“They must have been studying the powder for years, must have already known about the bones, just not what they needed to do with them.” Claire joined in.

Dean nodded. “Exactly. They had the machine and the powder but had no idea where to go until they found that riddle. As soon as the Court realised what to do with them, they retrieved them, armed with the best weapon they had. The virus. They dosed the coffee during the night shift, knowing what would happen as soon as they triggered the machine.”

Claire winced.

“But not everyone was affected. Do you have a theory behind that?” Sam asked.

“I do. I agree with Jack. I think the virus is of human design, coded to be ineffective towards a specific genetic tree. Cain’s. Hear me out.” Dean held up his hands, palms splayed to abate the objections that were about to come. “You know the Demon Court pride themselves on their generic purity. If the Demon Court are dedicated to preserving that DNA, then there must be something pretty special about it. Say, immunity from the virus.”

“That’s pure conjecture,” Sam interrupted. “You have nothing to base that hypothesis on from what we found.”

Dean shrugged. “Jack told me that the Dead Sea Scrolls talked about more survivors of the Great Flood. Pure descendants of Cain that were spared. We’ve already discussed the possibility that a descendant of Seth exists, their bloodline forever untainted by Cain’s even millennia later. That’s why the blood powder didn’t react when I tested it on the train. As it stands, that’s a statistical impossibility. But what if we were wrong and it wasn’t _Seth_ they were descended from?”

Sam blinked. “Then -”

“What if the people who were unaffected at the facility were pure descendants of Cain, who had never fallen into the hands of the Demon Court? The virus wouldn’t work for them. If the blood we have is from a similar descendant, it explains why the powder on the train didn’t work for us. You’re the forensics expert, Sam, so tell me this: is it possible?”

Sam pulled a face. “It’s technically plausible, but like you said, Dean, it’s a statistical impossibility. Besides that, you’re talking about someone custom-making a virus to affect anyone _except_ people with a certain gene. That kind of science is ahead of even DARPA. It’s not possible.”

“After everything we’ve seen with that blood powder, the device, you want to tell me that _this_ is where you have trouble believing?” Dean demanded.

Sighing, Sam conceded the point. “Fine. It’s possible, but you still have no scientific evidence to back it up.”

“No,” Jack agreed. “But I’m prepared to have faith. Your background is in forensics, Dean said? Then why can’t it be a simple case of genetics? Your own words were that it might be a mutagen from Biblical days. What if Cain was patient zero? Once he recovered - and we know that he did, because he didn’t just spend his life of banishment ravaging anyone he came across - he’d be immune and no longer susceptible to its effects. Couldn’t he have passed that onto his children?”

Sam fell silent, mulling over the words. Eventually, he nodded slowly. “Cain could have passed on a recessive allele for the genetic mutation to his children… alright. I don’t think you’ve proved your case, but it is the best theory we have, and we’ve come this far on speculation alone. Which only leaves one question. What’s the treasure at the end of this hunt? More of the virus?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so. Actually, I’ve been thinking about Frank, the old man who was supposed to have stage four cancer but his autopsy showed that even with the mutated DNA, he was barely stage two. I think Claire was right, and the powder did cure him. But not completely. I think that’s what the alchemist organisation discovered. Something that has the power to cure, and they’ve refined it to a level that the Demon Court couldn’t replicate. Maybe not even specifically cancer, maybe any disease. That kind of knowledge would go a long way.”

“And would fetch one hell of an asking price,” Claire muttered. “I think you’re right. So now we need to get back in the running.”

“But first we have to figure out where to go. I memorised the lines in the tomb, I think I can sketch it out, if I can find a pencil.”

Claire cleared her throat. “I think I already know where we need to go. Can you find me a map?”

There was a scurry for Sam to dig out his own tablet, now Dean’s had gone missing, and pass it over to Claire. She opened a map of the world and opened it full screen. Tapping the screen, she spread her index and middle fingers outwards, so she could zoom in over the eastern side of Europe and a little south.

Everyone craned their necks to see what she was doing.

“Here. Follow the lines of the river. Does that look like the slab?”

Dean nodded, speechless. The area Claire had pointed to was a rough match to the engraved lines that they’d found on the sandstone slab. And now everything was falling into place. Sandstone. The tomb of Resheph. And now their next destination.

“The glowing star?” He asked.

Claire pointed. Dean leaned closer, looking at the area next to her fingertip. He recognised it, of course. In the large oxbow of the Nile, the archaeological site where they had discovered Tutankhamun’s resting place.

“Valley of the Kings.”

They had come full circle. Egypt had played a heavy role in their investigation so far. The origin of the Book of Life, the resting place of Resheph, who had the knowledge of the blood powder and the virus it contained.

“The riddle,” Eileen breathed. “ _Where it drowns, it takes its place with the buried Boy King. Down, down, down, to the eternal resting place of the Eldest son._ Buried boy king. It has to be talking about Tutankhamun. His tomb was only found less than a hundred years ago, buried beneath the sand.”

“But it’s in the middle of Egypt, in the desert.” Claire objected. “The riddle uses the word ‘drowns’. The closest object of water is the Nile, you can’t drown in sand.”

Dean looked between them. “We have time to figure that out. In the meantime, we know our next destination. I suggest we get some rest, because we hit the road first thing.”

 

 **01:32 AM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

The video on the tablet screen played through again. The sound broke off after the first tremor, but the video continued. It showed the appearance of the Demon Court, through to their escape, but not once did it show what was below St. Peter’s tomb. Whatever was down there remained a mystery, one that would perhaps never be solved.

Disappointed, he set the tablet down, switching off the display and leaning back in his chair.

Commander Winchester had lied at the debriefing. Even his expert poker face had not stood up to scrutiny, not when the stakes were so high. Trust was not something that came easily. Either way, the Commander had discovered something in the tomb. Something he was unwilling to share.

But what had he found? And how much did he know?

Cardinal Duma took a deep gulp of oxygen, reaching for the aspirin in his pocket, just to check it was there and within reach.

It was time to end all of this.


	11. The Boy King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for historically-accurate incest referenced in this chapter.

**APRIL 25TH, 09:05 AM** **  
** **OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA**

It was a short flight from Rome to Luxor. There was only a matter of two hours before they’d be touching down on the runway. Dean took the time to once again inventory his pack. They’d managed a quick detour to an ARTEMIS safe house in Rome to restock and grab any equipment they were missing.

ARTEMIS used their safehouses a lot and they were always stocked with a cache of weapons and equipment to fit most spontaneous needs. Of course, they didn’t have everything. Sometimes things needed to be shipped out from Washington D.C. if they were too specialised. Unfortunately, this was one of those times where the time constraints were too tight. Waiting for equipment wasn’t an option.

They’d managed to leave the Vatican at dawn, unseen and unheralded. Jack had assured them he could smooth things over when he got back and Cardinal Duma would understand their need for secrecy. The only person who knew their intended destination outside of their team was Director Bradbury. She’d arranged their private flight and covertly hidden their flight plan with the help of an old friend. It wouldn’t stand up to too much scrutiny, but at a glance it would shield their true destination.

The plane had left Leonardo da Vinci airport almost forty-five minutes ago. The remainder of the flight was all they had to figure out where to start looking in Valley of the Kings and strategize their means of getting there. Eileen and Claire were currently hunched over a workstation, arranging transport and logistics once they landed. Sam was taking apart his new Scattergun and reassembling it, making sure it was completely to his standards. Jack was reading, having borrowed some scrolls from the Vatican Archives that morning long before the others had woken. He was lost in his own thoughts.

Dean, on the other hand, had his own avenue of investigation. Something he had yet to share with Sam. Though it wasn’t completely related to the events so far, he had his own reasons for wanting to explore the properties of the blood powder a little more. He still had some of the small fragment of bone that they’d gotten from Father Rudy in Venice, and he’d already made a list of the equipment he’d need back at ARTEMIS HQ once this mission was over.

“Where are we at?” He spoke up, pushing his own curiosity away and focusing on the events at hand. “Are we convinced that Tutankhamun is the king mentioned in the riddle?”

“We split our efforts,” Claire spoke up, tapping twice on the table. Eileen had been lost in her own reading and wasn’t aware of Dean’s question. The vibrations caught her attention. “Reading up everything we can find on Tutankhamun’s life.”

“There are a lot of contradictions surrounding his parentage and even then, we can’t say for certain who his ancestors are. The ancient Egyptians weren’t exactly great record keepers.” Eileen explained.

Jack suppressed a yawn in favour of joining the others in their discussion. He hadn’t had as much sleep as the others due to his early morning visit to the stacks in the Archives. No doubt Father Ishim had hidden or destroyed anything of use but Jack had been hopeful there might have been something he left behind unknowingly. Dean and Jack both agreed that he was probably the brain behind solving the riddles. Jack had spent the hours before they left Vatican City hoping to close the gap between the knowledge they had and the insight the Demon Court had, but he had discovered little.

“So what _can_ we determine?” Dean pressed. They must have discovered something. At this point he would take conjecture over nothing. They couldn’t land with no idea of their next move. Every second they wasted was precious time the Demon Court would use to their advantage.

“His father is generally considered to be Akhenaten, the Pharaoh before Tutankhamun. Up until the fifth year of his reign, he was known as Amenhotep IV. That much we can discern as fact. Akhenaten was rather famously married to Nefertiti, but she only bore him daughters. No sons.”

“Okay, so Nefertiti wasn’t Tutankhamun’s mother. Do we know exactly who was? Any theories at all?” Sam asked, setting down his shotgun in order to devote his full attention to the information.

“One. A few references only refer to his maternal figure as a minor wife of Akhenaten, but we know a little more than that. While we don’t know her name, a mummy found in Valley of the Kings was tested and identified as both Tutankhamun’s mother _and_ Akhenaten’s sister.”

Dean blinked. “You mean Tutankhamun was the product of an incestuous marriage between brother and sister?”

Claire spread her hands and gave a half-shrug. “Polygamy and incest are themes that have been significantly present throughout history. But it does offer some interesting thoughts about the bloodline. The pure descendants of Cain may want to keep their bloodline pure, but someone as important as royalty? It may have been less of an issue back then to keep his bloodline completely untainted.”

“A marriage to Nefertiti with tainted daughters, but an illegitimate son with a pure bloodline. An illegitimate child that later becomes Pharaoh,” Eileen finished.

Dean nodded. It did add weight to their theory but it still wasn’t a lot to go on to tie Tutankhamun into their trail, let alone give them a starting point for their investigation once they landed in Luxor.

“We’ve got a little more speculation about his lineage but there’s one more thing we know to be fact. Tutankhamun was buried with two stillborn children, born of his wife Ankhesenamun, who was his half-sister. After his death, she vanished from history. No record of her remains.” Claire read from her notes. “Either way, as Nefertiti’s daughter, her bloodline was tainted. There are no other known wives of Tutankhamun, so it seems likely that his lineage died with him.”

Sam frowned. “But not definitely. Not to contradict, but we can’t prove Nefertiti was her mother or that Nefertiti herself was from a tainted bloodline. Akhenaten may have been a Pharaoh and abused his power to have multiple wives, but in history the one thing we know is that rulers prioritise heirs. They love to keep things in their bloodline. I doubt things were so different back in ancient Egypt. All of his wives might have pure bloodlines.”

“It’s possible,” Claire agreed immediately, looking pleased that Sam had some input into the historical side of their investigation. Dean didn’t mind that he personally had no insight to offer. History wasn’t his strong suit. His interest lay in the sciences. It was where he and Sam had always differed - Sam preferred to dabble in all areas that interested him. Dean chose to stick to what he specialised in.

“You said you had other speculations about his lineage?” He asked, instead.

Claire sighed. “Well, this all comes back to the assumption that his father was actually Akhenaten. DNA testing has ended a lot of theories, but we have no confirmation that the mummy found actually _was_ Akhenaten. But there are a few historians that believe Akhenaten was actually Moses.”

Silence met her words. Then, “What?” Dean asked. “Moses like… ten commandments, leader of the Israelites? That Moses?”

“I’m not convinced, personally,” Claire shrugged. “We can’t actually date the events of Exodus and there are much too many contradictions with timings and events. But it’s a possible link and we can date Moses’ bloodline back all the way to Naamah, Noah’s wife. And as we previously established, Noah was a descendant of Seth, but Naamah’s bloodline goes all the way back to Cain.”

“Making Moses a descendant of Cain, maybe even a pure one,” Dean breathed. He wasn’t convinced about the Moses theory, happy to dismiss it as fiction. But if they could link Tutankhamun even tenuously to Cain, it proved they were on the right track. “Can we estimate a time in history for Tutankhamun?”

“Actually, yes. He was born 1341 BC and died in 1323 BC. It’s estimated that he ruled from 1332 BC until the time of his death.”

Dean did a quick calculation in his head. “Wait, so when he died he was only eighteen or nineteen years old? And he ruled from the time he was nine?”

“Making him the _Boy King_. Like from the riddle,” Claire told him significantly. “He had excellent advisors, one of whom took the throne upon Tutankhamun’s death.”

Eileen interrupted any further questions by making a soft sound as she stretched, working out a kink in her back. She rolled her shoulders and curved her back, unhurried. Dean watched as his brother’s cheeks pinkened, eyes fixated on Eileen. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

The only thing stopping him from telling Sam and Eileen to just get it over with and screw already was his position as leader. It wasn’t right for Dean to make that sort of comment to his subordinates and Sam trying to punch him wasn’t really what either of them needed right now. Besides, it would fade soon enough and the truth was, Dean appreciated Eileen as a soldier. A team member. He wanted her to work with them both again. If things got awkward because she had a one-night stand with Sam, that wouldn’t happen.

Dean just hoped his brother would make the right choice if things reached their boiling point before they made it back to HQ. Sam was usually good at looking at the bigger picture, but rarely when it came to women did that logic win out.

“Alright.” Dean cleared his throat, turning back to Claire. “He’s probably who we’re being pointed towards. So, what happened at the end of his life? What killed him?”

“A lot more speculation surrounds that but I think we have something concrete here. His death appeared to be accidental. Some tests done on his corpse showed that he had epilepsy. He had a violent episode, suffered a compound leg fracture, which got infected and killed him. This appears to be backed-up by the condition of his tomb. The paint work was still wet when the tomb was sealed, so they clearly weren’t expecting it to happen.” Jack spoke up this time, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

At Dean’s raised eyebrow, Claire shrugged sheepishly. “Jody and Donna took us to Egypt as kids. We’ve been here before. I’ve been to Luxor twice, once for research for my book.”

“You’ve written a book?” Sam asked, intrigued.

Claire grinned at him. “I’m a tenured professor with lots of free time. I’ve written three. Unfortunately, nothing relevant to our expedition. While I’ve seen Tutankhamun’s tomb, it was as a tourist rather than a historian.”

Dean didn’t waste time asking if she’d seen anything relevant during her trips to Egypt. From the way the clue beneath St. Peter’s had been cleverly hidden, there would be nothing out in the open for just anyone to stumble across.

“So aside from heading straight for Tutankhamun’s tomb when we land, do we have anything concrete about where we should begin?”

Jack cleared his throat, sliding out of his seat in order to stretch his legs. “I wouldn’t say I have something concrete, but I’m a little concerned we might be looking in the wrong place.”

Dean felt his heart sink at those words. Right now, they had a clear head start. The Demon Court needed time to solve the clue they’d found, whereas Claire had immediately identified their next destination. If it turned out they were completely on the wrong track, they were back on even footing. As even as footing could be when facing a ruthless cult with unlimited resources.

“What do you mean?”

“I was thinking about where we found this clue. I think we can assume that room below the necropolis wasn’t installed last week, or even in the last decade. It must be centuries old. Maybe even during the time of the antipopes, when the Papal seat moved to Avignon, in France.” Jack looked around to see if everyone was in agreement.

Dean gave a curt nod. Someone would have noticed the excavation, either by noise or vibrations, or by someone accessing one of the Vatican’s most sacred relics without the proper means.

“Well, I first wondered how they can possibly be directing us to Tutankhamun. The site of his tomb wasn’t discovered until 1927. Before that point, there was no direct way of leading us to that site outside of this map, and how likely was it that we’d be granted permission to excavate the Egyptian Valley of the Kings?”

Dean clued in to his line of thinking. “You mean, they clearly were optimistic as to the level of finance and influence of anyone wanting to follow this trail. The alchemists who set the map couldn’t know for certain the tomb would be found by the time anyone followed their clues.”

“Exactly,” Jack agreed, enthusiastically. “But then I figured, maybe they weren’t directing us to the tomb. Maybe there’s something nearby. Then I realised what it was that bugged me. It wasn’t hard to recognise the layout of the countries, to identify Egypt as our pitstop. But we picked out Luxor from the map of the Nile, which wouldn’t be the same now as it was a hundred years ago, or five hundred years ago.”

Eileen exhaled, and Dean’s eyes flickered towards her. Geology was one of Eileen’s areas of expertise and from her expression, she suddenly saw the flaw in the deductions that had led them here. “He’s right. The Nile has changed course so much over the last millennium alone. Erosion over time could completely change the shape of the river. Rivers change course all the time, and the Nile has undoubtedly done so. I’ve seen maps of old routes.”

Claire deflated. It had been her recognition that had got them this far and Dean could see that her need to prove her value was weighing on her. “Is there a way to identify where we actually need to be?”

“Not without satellite imagery and an accurate image of the slab below St. Peter’s, which now only exists in our memories and Crowley’s photographs. I doubt any of us could accurately recreate that drawing to show the exact route of the Nile.” Eileen sighed.

Everyone fell silent as they each tried to come up with a solution to their problem. Even if they came up with a half-hearted suggestion, nobody wanted to voice it and be the reason that the team strayed in the opposite direction to their target.

It was Sam that finally figured it out.

“That’s it,” he exclaimed, sitting upright. “Like you said, the alchemists who studied the powder had no idea that we would find Tut’s tomb, assumed it lost to the ages. But maybe they knew, maybe they had a second way in, the same way they had a back door into St. Peter’s tomb if they needed it.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully. He could see the logic in that. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’m with you on that, but how does it help us?”

“They’ve been meticulous so far. The riddle, hidden in a book for centuries, which led to a painting that has never been moved, leading to St. Peter’s tomb which hasn’t been moved either, not since the sarcophagus was built. So, we can assume that the back entrance we’re being led to, they planned for this eventuality.  The riddle says, ‘ _where it drowns_ ’. Which to me reads as an area of the Nile that has never moved, and the clue we’re looking for is underwater.”

Eileen pulled a face. “It’s a long shot to assume that such an area exists, or that they were able to predict future paths of the Nile enough to know that it would always be underwater.”

“Then maybe it wasn’t underwater then, but it is now?” Sam suggested, taking her input on board without hesitation. This was Eileen’s forte, not his. “Either way, the riddle hasn’t led us astray. It’s your call, Dean, but I would put my faith in the riddle that has yet to lead us wrong. We should check for an underwater entrance near Valley of the Kings.”

Dean looked at his brother for a moment and sighed. “What preparations do we have when we land?”

“We have a vehicle and a hotel booked under our aliases, customs cleared us and our arsenal with some smoothing from the Director. Do we need anything else?”

“Yeah,” Dean reached for a bottle of water. “We’re gonna need a boat.”

 

 **10:12 AM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Crowley stood on the balcony of their rented apartment, scowling out at the city of Rome, its people already going about their daily business. He hated it here. He hated the stench of the filthy city, the abundance of tourists, the sight of St. Peter’s standing tall when it should have been nothing but a mass of rubble by now.

He would be leaving soon enough, to his satisfaction, but there was still business to take care of here.

The replacement of his men, for one thing. Any other man might have worked out his aggression in a sexual manner, but that held little interest for him. It was just another risk of sullying his bloodline. No, Crowley considered sex to be a means to bear himself a pure heir, when the permission came from the Imperator.

Instead, Crowley had worked out his frustrations towards the ARTEMIS team on his own men, the soldiers who had failed him. News of their survival had already reached him and Crowley had taken his frustrations out on the survivors of his first assault team. His only regret was that Juliet had not been there to assist him in tearing them limb from limb.

A fresh, handpicked squad was on their way to Rome and their first mission would be to dispose of the trash that consisted of the mutilated bodies of their predecessors. Crowley found it a perfect example of motivation. They would learn quickly what their fate would be if they failed him.

He wiped off his long, curved knife as he turned from the balcony, tossing the rag away as he was done. Even standing over the bodies of the men who had served him faithfully in his role for years, he felt nothing. They were tools and their usefulness had run out, so he had replaced them.

The true source of his foul mood was revealed as the telephone in his room rang. The Imperator. Crowley knew he was about to bear the brunt of his displeasure for the outcome of the previous night’s mission. Deftly, Crowley fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pick up the bloodied phone receiver.

“Sir.”

“I received your report of last night’s mission and I’ve just finished perusing the contents,” the Imperator’s voice was shaking with rage. “Failure to exterminate the team is one thing, punishable by demotion and disgrace, but insubordination will be met with death.”

“I would _never_ disobey,” Crowley snapped, recovering quickly. “Sir.”

“Then how do you explain your actions towards the woman, Claire Novak.”

“Sir?” Crowley frowned, his mind switching between the two women before he remembered that Claire was the younger one, with the blonde curly hair. The Professor.

“Your instructions were clear. Eliminate the others but capture Professor Novak and keep her alive. Yet, you drove her into a position where she was almost killed.”

Crowley felt anger rising within him and he drove it down. He had never planned to excuse his actions but the Imperator’s priorities had provided him with a reason to do so. “Yes, sir. I understand that, and the only reason the Americans are still breathing is because of the restraints of this unanticipated mercy. I need your direct order, sir. Do I prioritise the mission or the woman?”

Silence met his words. Crowley felt a smirk of triumph tug at the corners of his lips, reading the decision before it was even made.

“Your point is not unreasonable,” the voice sighed. “The woman is important but the priority should be with the mission. It must not be jeopardised, no matter how great the cost. The wealth and power that lies before us must belong to the Court.”

Crowley understood. It had been the sole aim of the Demon Court for centuries, to hunt for this arcane knowledge of the lost society of mages and alchemists. It was written in all their ancient texts, not unlike a manifesto. They were the true descendants of Cain and genetically pure and superior. The secret knowledge must be theirs.

For the first time, the Court was on its way to success.

“Then I have your permission to proceed without concern for the girl?”

More silence. “Her loss will be a disappointment but the mission must not fail. The American team must be stopped by any and all means. Those are your orders. However, I must stress that if the opportunity arises where the Professor could be captured, take it.”

“Understood, sir.” Crowley hesitated, but then pressed on. “I must confess, I don’t understand her importance.”

“Her purity of blood. Her birth parents were ours, but her father sought to protect his wife and child, so they escaped our clutches. Of course, they didn’t escape for long... but the child eluded us. It was suggested she might be a worthy choice to bear your own offspring.”

Crowley straightened. The Professor was barely old enough to catch his interest and far from his type, but the knowledge that the Imperator was considering allowing him an heir… it was enough for Crowley to be determined to keep Claire Novak alive. He would not disappoint the Imperator at the prospect of such a reward.

It appeared the Imperator himself knew the effect the words would have on Crowley. “I hope this encourages you to find an alternative method than simply killing her outright. But as we clarified, even she is expendable if the mission is in jeopardy.”

“Understood.” Crowley pictured the blonde bitch who had broken his nose. She was fiery but no match for him. Her blood purity would stay his hand if the opportunity arose but he had no desire to make her the mother of his children, to bestow upon her the wealth and riches had had inherited from his ancestors. No, he would request another. Someone who saw bearing his children for the honour it was.

“Everything you need has been arranged in Luxor,” the Imperator finished. “We draw ever closer to our final goal. I place the future of the Court in your hands now. Do not fail. Kill anyone who stands in your way.”

Crowley nodded to himself, a smirk spreading across his face. The ARTEMIS team wouldn’t know what hit them. He’d see to Commander Winchester personally.

 

 **11:12 A.M** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Claire pushed up onto her knees, watching the land zip by with equal parts familiarity and excitement. Dean was at the wheel of the speedboat, expertly helming the small vessel. It was exhilarating, the fresh scent of water as it arched up, cooling her face. The sun was hot above them, glinting brightly off the aquamarine waters of the Nile, and her hair was flying about wildly in the wind.

It was the perfect way to relax after being cramped in the air, researching in front of a computer for most of the morning. They’d only landed in Luxor an hour ago, but they had breezed through customs and found the requested equipment waiting for them. The boat had been a little harder to source but it seemed ARTEMIS had a long reach.

Luxor was sparsely populated, only having an estimated population of around half a million people. Compared with Cairo’s population of 9.7 million, it was a drop in the water. It allowed for discretion and camouflage, just how ARTEMIS liked it.

The Egyptian Valley of the Kings stretched out to the left of them, in the distance. To access Tutankhamun’s tomb, they would need to cross through the civilian area, and curve around into the official parking lot for Valley of the Kings. But that was not their destination, at least not yet. They would only enter the tomb through the tourist entrance if it was their only choice. Despite her reluctance to let it come to that, Claire did feel disappointed that she and the others would not experience the tomb. The beautiful painted artworks, the glass-enclosed golden sarcophagus - it was truly a spectacular sight.

Since her last visit, the paintings had been restored, no doubt adding to their exceptional beauty. Claire had read many times about Howard Carter’s discovery of the long-lost tomb, and the treasures and tributes within. Most of them were housed at the Egyptian museum in Cairo now, including the funerary mask that was the most famous of Tutankhamun’s possessions.

They had gone up and down the river a few times, trying to allay the suspicion of the locals. They wanted to be seen as dumb American tourists looking for a brief thrill. If it became too obvious they were looking for something, flags would be raised. Unwanted attention would be drawn and they could find themselves with any number of authorities breathing down their necks. Or worse, the Demon Court. They didn’t have long. It was only a matter of time before the Court found out their clue pointed to Tutankhamun’s tomb. Somehow Claire suspected they wouldn’t take their time, either. She had visions of millennia of history lost to the destruction of the Court.

Dean pushed them a little further north than they needed to be, before cutting the engine. Claire took this as a sign they were ready to proceed and looked down into the water. It was only about thirty-five feet deep, home to a vicious species of crocodile - although they were rarely seen this far north - and heavily polluted.

“All of this is necessary?” Eileen asked, prodding at the pile of equipment.

Claire shot it a cursory glance. Full-face masks, wetsuits, oxygen tanks, waterproof microphones, and earpieces. Eileen’s earpiece implant wouldn’t work while she was submerged. ARTEMIS had yet to find a way to adjust for the sound distortion of the underwater acoustics. She would be forced to rely on hand signals as any responses, and a small waterproof light attached to her wrist to notify her when anyone was talking. It explained her current disappointment. Claire understood, to a certain extent. She’d been given a brief taste of sound and then it was all taken away.

“Yes, it’s necessary,” Sam told her. No doubt he and Dean were experienced divers from their time in the SEALs. Claire herself had even gone diving once or twice for historical experiences. A few years ago, she’d gone diving to explore the remnants of the Pharos Lighthouse of Alexandria. “I mean, if you value your health.”

“Gross,” Dean muttered, overshadowing any reply that Eileen might have summoned. Claire felt the corners of her mouth tug up in amusement but she quickly repressed it. Dean had to have experienced worse, he picked a hell of a time to be squeamish. His expression was one of mild disgust and trepidation towards the idea that he would eventually be submerged in the waters of the Nile.

“Were you expecting something else? Perhaps crystal blue waters?” Claire teased.

Dean rolled his eyes. “No. But I’d prefer to go out in a bigger blaze of glory than dysentery. Or typhoid.”

“You could always stay on the boat,” Eileen suggested.

Dean scowled. He’d already tried that. They were going down in shifts to try and find the secret underwater tunnel they suspected lay beneath the surface of the waters. One person would remain on the boat while the others went below.

Sam had won the first shift in a game of rock-paper-scissors, much to Dean's annoyance.

As the others began to separate the pile of gear, Claire let her gaze drift back to the waters beneath them. It had been her recognition of the map that had led them here but they were placing a lot of faith on very little evidence. What if she’d been wrong? What if there’d been some other clue that she’d overlooked?

Almost as if he’d anticipated her thoughts, Dean joined her, drifting by her side effortlessly. His fingertips brushed across her shoulder gently, alerting her to his presence. He needn’t have bothered. After the last few days, every one of Claire’s senses were on high alert.

“This is quadrant A.”

Claire nodded. They’d divided the Nile into sections, to correspond with their shifts. They would search each quadrant, one at a time, until they found what they were looking for. _If_ they found what they were looking for.

“Yes,” she replied eventually. “I’ll raise the orange flag to warn that there are divers in the area, but there aren’t a lot of other boats around here, so we should be fine.”

“You’re worried about something.”

Claire sighed, turning to meet Dean’s expectant gaze. He could see right through her. “I just hope that we’re on the right track.”

Dean gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course we are. We’re at least in the right vicinity, and you helped us narrow it down to that. You bought us precious time. Whatever happens from here will happen, but from an objective point of view? This is a good plan.”

With a surprised expression on her face, Claire nodded. She suspected that was as close to praise as Dean ever offered and she was content to take it. Hopefully, it would play out that she wasn’t wasting their time, and had led them to the right place, but right now she wasn’t sure.

“Suit up. We’ll do an equipment check and then down we go.”

Dean’s hand drifted away from Claire’s shoulder and took away with it the nerves and worry she’d been shouldering, leaving behind only one thing.

Hope.

 

 **11:42 AM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

Dean crossed his arms against his chest and fell backwards into the water.

His first thought was familiarity. A sense of home. He was immediately transported back to his SEAL training, spending more of his time in the water than out of it. Water swamped over him and Dean opened his eyes. He could feel the suit protecting him from the silt and sewage and pollution. Every seam was taped and sewed, and the mask completely covered his face. The ARTEMIS design was a little more refined, regulating body temperatures and building the oxygen regulator into the mask, so Dean’s mouth was free to talk if he needed to.

He felt a disturbance in the water next to him and turned. The visibility was poor, a matter of fifteen feet at the most, but it could have been worse. He saw Claire and Jack drop in on either side of him, testing their own suits. Each of them had a different colour stripe, diagonally across their midriffs for identification. Dean’s was green, Eileen’s blue, Jack’s yellow and Claire’s purple.

Dean tested out his full range of motion, held underwater by his weight belt, although his buoyancy compensator vest tried to pull him back. Eileen appeared in his peripheral vision and Dean twisted around to see how she was handling the submersion. She swam forward in strong, smooth strokes and Dean smiled. Eileen could handle herself just fine.

“McQueen to Team. Check in if you can hear me.”

One at a time, everyone except Eileen confirmed they could hear him, including Sam from his position on the boat. He’d be keeping an eye on them through an infrared video system, just in case. Sam would take over for the next quadrant, to ensure everyone had a break when necessary.

“Okay, so we need to drop to the bottom and spread out. Everyone knows their positions.”

It wasn’t a question but everyone responded positively regardless.

“With me, then.”

He vented the air in his buoyancy vest and sank to the bottom. His feet braced as they reached the rocky, sandy silt at the bed of the Nile. This sinking feeling took some getting used to for most divers, often inciting feelings of claustrophobia. He could see it now, in Jack. His legs were thrashing about as he struggled to relax at the weight bringing him down. Dean almost moved towards him, but then Jack recovered and gave him the ‘all clear’ sign.

Dean had never experienced that struggle. He found himself thriving underwater, relishing in the complete bodily freedom. He was weightless, capable of flying without the need for wings or a metal death trap. He was in total control.

He checked on Claire and Eileen, but they seemed to be doing fine, spiralling down until they too reached the sandy bottom of the Nile. He released a small amount of weight from his belt, to keep him drifting just a little above the river bed. He didn’t want to walk, after all. He needed the freedom of movement.

“Sam, how’s the camera working?”

Cursing was the immediate reaction to his question. “ _I can’t seem to get it going right now. You’re like ghosts and it keeps cutting out. I’m trying to fix it but there’s no steady signal_.”

That wasn’t the best news. Sam was their only link to the surface and what was going on around them. “Keep in radio contact. If you run into any issues, raise the alarm and haul ass to where we are.”

Dean wasn’t taking any chances about Crowley getting the drop on them again. They might have this brief head start but it wouldn’t last forever. Still, it was broad daylight and there were other boats in the area. Such visibility might provide them with more cover than any other time they’d encountered the Demon Court.

But Dean wasn’t going to risk everything on that possibility. He wanted them in and out of Egypt as quickly as possible.

“Okay. Check the banks first, that’s the most likely place to find this back entrance. After that, walk across to the other side, all in a row, fifteen feet apart. Do not swim off, do not lose sight of each other. Visual contact at all times.”

This had been the fastest and most thorough means the team had determined to cover all the ground necessary. To work in increments of seventy-five feet. Once they reached the other side, if they had discovered nothing, they would shift down and begin the process all over again. Back and forth, section by section, they would search the entire river bed and banks for the back entrance they hoped desperately could be found.

Dean pulled out his underwater flashlight, clicking it on. With the sun overhead and the water reasonably shallow, he wasn’t using it for illumination, just to help explore any cracks and crevasses he might discover. The passageway they were looking for had been hidden for centuries. If it was obvious, it would have been discovered long before now.

Yet another riddle for them to solve.

As they set out, Dean stayed silent as he tried to piece together everything they’d learned from their investigation so far. The last clue was what had him stumped. There had to be more than just that one map, leading them to the location of Tutankhamun’s tomb. Together with the riddle, all they’d been able to learn was that there was a secret entrance hidden somewhere in the bed of the Nile. But the Nile was almost 7000 km in length. To search it all in a day was an impossible task.

There must have been something they had missed back in the cave below St. Peter’s tomb. A clue that helped them narrow things down further. Had Crowley stolen it and already had the answer? Had the ARTEMIS team just missed it due to the incendiary device forcing them to evacuate?

He reached the opposite side of the river and clung to the banks, scrutinising every inch of soil and sand and stone. Nothing.

Still, it was only their first pass. They were unlikely to be so lucky as to discover the entrance so quickly. Although Dean privately hoped they would, he was much more logical than that. As Jack finished up his section of the wall, the last to finish due to his inexperience with underwater manoeuvres, they moved down the river bank and started again.

Dean kicked forward, lost in his own thoughts as he studied every inch of the sand surrounding him. There was little to be found there. The areas that weren’t sandy were dotted here and there with waste, broken bottles and rocks.  Under the Nile was less visually appealing than the surface, that was for sure.

They combed back and forwards, checking every inch of their area, slowly working their way down the river. Dean had selected their starting point, further north than he suspected they needed to be, and their finishing point was a little further south. He was trying to give a fair margin of where their entrance was likely to be, but he was working blind. Who knew how long the tunnel was that would lead them to their next destination?

Static in his earpiece caught his attention. “ _Commander_?”

Dean stopped, turning around to find he’d swam too far and lost sight of Eileen on his left. He was last in line on this side, Jack taking up the rear position. He moved back, not bothering to reply. Eileen’s earpiece was in place for when they reached the end of their submarine journey, but as they’d suspected, it wasn’t working underwater.

“How are things on the surface, Sam?” Dean asked.

“ _Pretty good. Wishing I had a beer and a good book since the camera isn’t working._ ”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, yeah, just remember to actually do your job while you’re getting a nice tan up there. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

“ _Sure_.”

The ARTEMIS team worked their way across the river for another thirty minutes, working past Valley of the Kings and down towards Luxor. The most they found was a discarded sandal, some plants, and some thick scraps of fabric that looked like they might once have been a carpet. All in all, their search seemed to be looking more like a fruitless endeavour as each moment passed.

“This can’t be right,” Dean sighed, eventually.

“ _Did you find something?_ ” Claire asked eagerly. Even from down the line, Dean could sense she was ready to break formation and join him.

“No. But that’s the problem. The longer we’re here, the more I’m convinced we’re not doing this right.”

She sighed. “ _Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m sorry. I put too much of a guess on where we needed to be._ ”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean assured her. “Claire, I think you’ve picked the right place to search. The problem is that we’re doing it sector by sector. I feel like there’s a faster way to identify our route and we’re just missing it. Each clue has been more specific than this and -”

“ _What am I missing?_ ” Eileen interrupted. She had moved closer to see why they had stopped, but Dean realised it was too dark for her to lipread through his hood. He could sign, of course, but this promised to be a lengthy discussion.

Dean signalled for her to return to the boat. “Topside, everyone.”

When they were all back on the boat, last position marked, Dean brought Eileen up to speed with what they had been discussing. It was a much easier discussion once they could all be involved, rather than having Eileen completely in the dark. She was their geology and engineering expert and as such, she would be best equipped to deal with the potential secret entry they were trying to discover.

“But either way, we should find it? Whether we figure out whatever it is we’re missing, or if we search every inch of the river bed, the end result will be the same,” Eileen replied.

That was the problem. Monotonous, systematic methodology was not how Dean worked. He recognised some problems could be solved best that way but this was not one of those instances. The Demon Court has been looking into this trail for decades at least. The painting had been stashed in Castel Sant’Angelo for centuries and the secret room beneath St. Peter’s tomb had existed for the same. It was nothing more than arrogance to assume that without following every aspect of the riddle, they would be able to solve in a day what had eluded people for centuries.

While Dean did not voice any of these comments aloud, he did opt to remind his team of their time constraints.

“Then what should we go? What’s our next step?” Sam asked.

“We could try and add some of the blood powder to the water?” Jack suggested. “See what kind of effect it has.”

“No.” Dean and Claire objected in unison.

Dean stopped, surprised, gesturing for Claire to speak.

“I just have some reservations about that powder in relation to the Nile. It’s probably nothing, but there could be a correlation between what this powder turns into and the biblical plagues of Egypt.”

“ _With the staff that is in my hands I will strike the water of the Nile, and it will be changed into blood._ ” Jack recited, nodding afterwards. “Yeah. It’s unlikely but we don’t want to cause a national panic. Was that your reason too, Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yes, exactly.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t made the connection. He just didn’t want to waste any more of the precious powder. For all they knew, the small fragment of bone they had was all that was left. Dean still wanted to run his own experiments on the powder, when all of this was over and done with and he was free from prying eyes. An idea was niggling at him, and he needed every ounce of powder he could salvage.

“Dean? What’s our next move?” Sam pressed.

“I want to go back to the last step. Everything we’ve done so far involved basing our information on common sense and historical records that are accessible on the internet by anyone. We need to focus on the information that only _we_ have. What was under the tomb. We must have missed something.”

“What if we didn’t miss something? What if there are just more layers to it that we didn’t consider before?”

Dean’s head whipped around to look at Jack as the words sank in. Yes. An angle he hadn’t considered, and yet it made the most sense. He’d seen Crowley leave the tomb and there was nothing in his hands. He couldn’t have smuggled out a clue. The map they’d seen must have been the only clue, but with multiple layers to peel away to find the solution.

“So, the cross marked the location of the map… but maybe it was also highlighting the slab it was on!” Sam exclaimed.

The words sank in and Dean recognised the truth in them. They’d been so focused on the map, they hadn’t even considered the unusual presence of a sandstone slab underneath Vatican City. The consideration towards it had gone no further than cementing that their next step was in Egypt.

“Eileen? What do you know about sandstone?”

Eileen frowned at the broad question. “It’s a sedimentary rock. Used a lot for construction in ancient periods because of its resistance to weathering. Egyptian architecture is full of it.”

“That doesn’t point towards a specific location.” Jack frowned, trying to help them narrow the search.

“We’re looking for an ancient location, one old enough to date back to the old testament, maybe around Tutankhamun’s era, primarily built up of sandstone, somewhere in Luxor.” Dean checked each item off his fingers.

“The Temple of Luxor!” Claire gasped, grasping her brother’s arm in excitement.

Dean smiled. Finally, they were getting somewhere. “Good, we’ll add that as a possibility. Where else?”

“No, no! That’s it!” Claire rose to her feet. “The Temple of Luxor fits everything. That’s where else we’re being pointed towards.”

“That’s… a big statement.” Sam gave Claire his full attention, his expression curious. “How about you talk the rest of us through it?”

“The Temple of Luxor is predominantly built with sandstone - Nubian sandstone to be precise. I can’t guarantee that’s what the slab beneath St. Peter’s was made of, but now I know what I do, I’d stake money on it.”

Dean chewed his lip. That was tenuous at best but it was clear that Claire had more to say, she was positively vibrating with excitement. Despite his best efforts to not get his hopes up, her excitement was contagious and he could see the rest of the team starting to shift, sensing that she was building up to something concrete.

“The temple itself was dedicated to the Theban Triad - the Gods mostly worshipped in Thebes. That includes the deity Amun, his consort Mut and their son Khonsu. Amun was considered to be the king of the Gods. Now, here’s where King Tut comes into it. When he first succeeded the throne, King Tut was called Tutankhaten. It wasn’t until later he took the name Tutankhamun, which means ‘living image of Amun’.”

Dean leaned forward, his eyes widening slightly. That was certainly a compelling piece of information. But Claire wasn’t finished.

“Add to that the Temple was constructed about thirteen or fourteen hundred years B.C. and it certainly fits the period. But if you’re still not convinced, a lot of the construction was ordered by Tutankhamun himself.”

She leaned back, obviously satisfied, as the three ARTEMIS team members exchanged looks. Dean couldn’t refute any of her information and nodded, mostly to himself. It had been the right call to bring Claire along, she had brought irreplaceable knowledge to the team and was the sole reason they had made it this far.

Dean vowed never to underestimate Claire or Jack again. Civilians or not, they had both proven they belonged with the team.

“Where’s the temple?” He said eventually.

“Just a little further downstream. We would have covered it in the third sector.” Claire pointed. “It’s right next to the water.”

Dean smiled. Finally, they had luck on their side.

 

 **12:36 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Claire exhaled slowly as Sam raised anchor and turned them around expertly, heading back downstream at her direction. She was seated next to him so she could point out the temple as soon as it came into view. Truth be told, the reprieve was wonderful. While she was by no means unfit, trying to control her body underwater was a tiring experience and the heat of the mask on her face was no substitution for the scorch of the sun.

“Drive slowly,” she directed. “We need to check the third sector as planned.”

“Fair point,” Sam said.

Her earpiece flared to life. “ _Let me know when we’re close and I’ll search below._ ”

Dean was positioned on the back of the boat, fully suited up once again. He planned to follow the boat underwater once the temple was in view. They were checking all angles and weren’t quite ready to give up on their theory that the passageway started in the river. If Dean found nothing, they would attempt a new approach but Claire believed they were finally on track.

“Here,” she called out softly. “That’s it, ahead on the left.”

Sam eased the throttle to the barest rotation of the propellers. They were practically inching forward on the river, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by some of the other boats. A moment later there was a splash and Dean disappeared under the water. Claire peered over the side of the boat, looking for the silhouette of him swimming but she could see nothing.

“What if it’s not here?” Jack asked. “What if it’s inside the temple? Can we get inside there?”

“It’s open to tourists, I checked on my phone before. We’ll check there next if we need to. But I’m satisfied that it’s here somewhere. The riddle referenced drowning. The first water reference I’d think of in Egypt is the Nile.” Sam shrugged, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. “The slab itself showed a map of the Nile. Add to that the fact that the route out of that secret tunnel dropped us into a river? I think water is as much a part of the riddle as sandstone.”

Eileen, who had been squinting at Sam’s mouth, didn’t look convinced. “We could just be reading too much into it. It’s not hard to force something to fit what we expect the riddle to point to.”

Stung, Claire glanced at Eileen, mollified by her apologetic expression. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she was wrong, but she’d hoped Eileen had more faith in her.

“The question I have is the ‘when’. When was this aspect of the clue hidden? I looked it up and the excavation of the temple didn’t begin until 1884. It wasn’t even finished until 1960. We estimated the St. Peter’s clue was created somewhere around the schism and reign of the antipopes in the fourteenth century.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get an answer to that,” Sam sighed. “I’ve been thinking about it myself. They seem to have such foresight for a group so routed in long ago. The accurate mapping of the Nile, which changes so often. The painting still being on display in Castel Sant’Angelo. And now the assumption that the Temple of Luxor would be found and excavated before anyone decided to follow the riddle? I don’t think we’re going to find out how far their power and knowledge actually stretched.”

Nobody had a response to Sam’s words, each of them reflecting over it. Claire was surprised by how accurate she found them to be. She didn’t believe in anything she couldn’t definitively prove, like religion or the supernatural. Her beliefs came from ancient texts and buildings and art. Yet she couldn’t deny the aura of mystery presented by the alchemists that left this trail for them.

“ _Stop_.”

Sam cut the engine immediately at the sound of his brother’s voice. Everyone held their breaths, waiting for some more information from Dean.

“ _There’s something down here. Drop anchor._ ”

Everyone moved at once. Claire scrambled from her seat to join the fray as everyone grabbed fresh oxygen tanks. She snapped her hood back into place, feeling exhilaration flood through her. This was it, she could tell by Dean’s tone. They’d found it.

“Do I need to come down?” Sam asked.

“ _Just stay up top, Sammy. Everyone else is already suited up so you might as well keep on guard duty for now. I’ll call if we need you._ ”

Seeing that Sam wasn’t coming, Claire joined the other divers, falling back into the water. She sank beneath the surface and relaxed, letting her weight belt pull her to the bottom. She couldn’t see Dean, so she struck out for the left side of the bank, the side where the temple was.

“ _I don’t see anything_.” Jack’s voice echoed in her earpiece. “ _Where are we going?_ ”

“ _Ahead, about fifty feet_.” Dean replied.

Feeling her way along the wall, Claire caught up to Eileen quickly, following her lead towards Dean. She could sense rather than see Jack behind her, bringing up the rear. They reached the Commander quickly, less than a hundred feet in front of where the boat was now anchored.

Eileen reached him first but in Claire’s excitement, she swerved around to the other side of Dean to get a better look at whatever it was he had found. Peering through the hood, she frowned at the sight of the discoloured patch of sand. Was that all? She reached out to touch it, scraping her gloved hand along the soft sand walls onto the coarse, rough texture of the off-coloured area.

“ _What is it?"_  Jack asked.

Claire breathed out a single word. “Sandstone.”

 

 **12:58 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

The private jet had just taken off from Rome more than an hour ago. Castiel could hear the chatter of the radio from the cockpit, but his focus was elsewhere. He was seated closest to the door, the window showing the Mediterranean sea far below him. Not long to go now.

His head turned as he heard someone approach him from behind but dismissed any threat once he saw who it was.

Crowley.

Castiel paid him no heed, already tired of having to deal with the man and his ridiculous temper. Crowley had been angry since the moment Castiel had contacted him again. No doubt feeling the bitterness of the supervision ordered by the Demon Court’s own Imperator. Failure was not an option this time.

“Any information from your contact on the ground?” Crowley asked through gritted teeth, each word sounding like it had taken tremendous effort to form politely.

Castiel barely spared him a glance. Touching his halo necklace, he responded in equally curt tones. “The ARTEMIS team is still on the river. They might just solve this for you.”

“I don’t need them to solve it for me,” Crowley hissed, stomping back to his team. There were fifteen soldiers with him and an additional person of higher authority. The brains behind most of the riddle solutions so far. The man who had provided the Court with most of its information regarding the powder.

Castiel had already been introduced to Father Ishim, a smug individual with narrow eyes and a salt and pepper hair and beard combination. He gave off an air of arrogance that made Castiel dislike him immediately, even without the complete dossier he’d read on him.

It had been Ishim that had discovered the machine and its effects on the blood powder. He’d been overseeing most of the Court’s investigation into the small amount of powder they had, and it was he who had stolen and solved the first part of the riddle from the Vatican, during his undercover work as the prefect in charge of the Archives.

But it was his nightly habits that truly highlighted how monstrous he was. A true genius with an IQ higher than Einstein’s, but his base instincts were depraved and left Castiel nauseated to his very core. If he hadn’t already been instructed to eliminate this man, Castiel would have done it of his own volition.

The plane dipped a little as they grew closer to their final destination and Castiel allowed his thoughts to drift to Commander Winchester and the ARTEMIS team below.

They were no threat now.

They had nowhere to hide.


	12. Mark of Cain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus chapter this week, because I saw the kindest comments about ARTEMIS on Twitter, and how waiting a whole week for an update was torture. So thank you, kind person. Your tweets meant everything to me. Have an update :)

**APRIL 25TH, 12:59 PM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

The stone slab blended seamlessly with the slope of the river bank. It was almost impossible to see unless someone happened to be specifically looking for it and Dean had been specifically looking for it. Even so, he was willing to bet that time had a lot to do with hiding the secret slab. Over the centuries, the dirt and sand had covered the edges of the stone, locking it in place and rendering it almost invisible. A natural camouflage.

It would take some effort to clear off the edges and Dean wasted no time. Being submerged as they were made it a lot more difficult to clear away the edges of the stone, as each movement was sending up clouds of silt that obscured their vision until it all settled again. He also lacked the proper materials to make the task easier. Instead, he was using the gloved fingers of his dominant hand to scrape and gouge away the edges of the stone while the other hand held his flashlight aloft.

The team were helping as best as they could, scrabbling at the river bank to stop more sand capsizing and  refilling the areas Dean had just scraped away. It was a monotonous task but Dean felt his own determination reflected back in his teammates. They had come so far, they weren’t about to throw in the towel.

“ _Have you cleared off the surface of the stone?_ ” Sam’s voice echoed in Dean’s ear with a hiss of static.

“Not yet. We’re trying to clear away the sides to see how far back it goes.” Dean panted, his shoulders beginning to ache from the exertion. “Why do you ask?”

“ _It looks like there’s something etched into it_.”

Dean stopped what he was doing and shone his light onto the centre of the stone slab. He couldn’t see anything but dirt and discolouration.

“I don’t see any carving.”

“ _Swim back. Look from a distance. The camera cut out again so I can’t show you what I saw, but there’s something there_.”

Dean waved the others back and retreated himself, swimming away from the stone to look at it from a distance but the visibility was too poor. Whatever Sam could see, it was helped by the contrast of the underwater camera. Reaching for his belt, Dean freed his diving knife and scraped it over the rock. The sensation was awful, sending a shiver down his spine, but when his knife caught in a groove Dean realised his brother had been right.

There was something there.

He spent the next few minutes tracing the shape with his knife, scratching away with his knife in order to make the etched lines more visible. He could sense the others were keeping their distance and letting him work, which was appreciated. Dean knew they had to be desperate to see what the carving was, but he needed space to work.

Finally, he swam back, trying to get a better look at the carving. It was like an elongated number seven, but with marks that reminded Dean of a bass clef. He frowned, trying to work out where he had seen it before. It rang a vague bell in the back of his head.

“I’ve seen this before,” he muttered.

Kicking forward, Dean reached out and traced the shape with his fingers, finding clarity in the moment his fingers touched the stone.

The uniforms of the mercenaries in Lyon. The symbol had been emblazoned across their chest.

An inhale of breath from Claire signified that she too had recognised the origin of the symbol. He turned to her.

“ _I think I know what this is_.”

“Yeah, me too. I saw it on the armour of the men who attacked us in Lyon.”

“ _No_ ,” Claire shook her head. “ _I mean, yes. I saw it there, too. And Jack showed me it in Rome before we left as something guard who survived the first attack recognised. But it’s presence here coupled with that has given me a little more insight. I think this is the mark of Cain_.”

“ _The mark of Cain_?” Jack asked, turning to Eileen and doing his best to crudely sign to her what was going on. “ _From Genesis_ ? _There’s no description in the Bible of what it looks like_.”

Dean glanced back at the shape and then towards Claire once again. “Then how do you know what it looks like?”

“ _Well, nobody does. That’s the point. When Cain killed his brother, God placed a curse. One half of this curse was that the earth where Abel bled out was cursed to never yield crops. The second part of the curse labelled Cain an outcast. He was banished to live as a nomad, and the mark was a sign to everyone of what he’d done and as a deterrent from future murders, and a reminder that anyone who killed Cain and ended his suffering would suffer God’s wrath._ ”

“So what are the chances that this slab  is also cursed?” Dean asked, hesitating. “If the mark was symbolic of a curse.”

“ _It’s possible,_ ” Claire shrugged. “ _If you believe in curses._ ”

“ _Dean, don’t even think about moving that slab. You know better than to screw around with curses -_ ” Sam’s began hotly.

“That was one time!” Dean interrupted. “And it was the freakin’ fairies, man. Besides, I don’t even think it was a curse, I think we just pissed off an Irish guy with a warped sense of humour -”

“ _You don’t know that!_ ”

“Superstitious horse crap,” Dean finished, firmly. “And even if it’s not, we don’t have a choice.”

When Sam fell silent, Dean realised the others were staring at him and cleared his throat pointedly, glad neither of them could see the way his cheeks were burning. He doubted they’d ask for clarification, too aware of his leadership role. He had no intention of answering any questions about it. What happened in Ireland, stayed in Ireland.

Still, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of a curse. Not that he truly believed in that kind of stuff but because Sam definitely did. He didn’t want his brother to add this to his arsenal of times Dean fucked up.

“Right. Sammy, get over here. We’re gonna need the boat.”

“ _On my way_.”

Dean turned to the rest of his gawking team. “Clear the edges, but focus on the bottom.” There could only be a tunnel behind the stone block, just like the one at St. Peter’s tomb. This had to be it.

The roar of an engine drew closer as Sam edged the boat over to them cautiously, clearly not wanting to bring the propellers too close to them.

“ _I can sort of see you_.”

“Good. Lower the anchor.”

Dean saw the dark shape descend, heading towards them and he swam out to grab it, guiding it over to the slab. Sam had barely managed to hold the weight of the stone in St. Peter’s, Dean didn’t fancy his chances of freeing one that had been hidden under the Nile for centuries without machinery.

He jammed one corner of the anchor into the now freed gap between the bottom of the stone and the river bank.

“Alright, winch it up,” Dean ordered. “Everyone else, back up.”

He reached out towards Eileen to make sure she understood, guiding her back out of the way with him. She shrugged off his touch as soon as she’d gotten the message but said nothing.

The rope grew taut and Dean watched as the slab shifted under the pressure. Sand and silt billowed from it, dark and opaque, obscuring the view of the stone. Nothing happened for a moment and then it slowly raised, the bottom pulling outwards like an awning window.

Up and up, the block raised until it separated from the wall completely, slipping free of the anchor. It fell, sinking down until it landed heavily onto the sandy floor.

Dean didn’t move at first, his vision obstructed by the silt that was beginning to settle. It had been a long time since this tunnel had been used. Even from here, he could see the dislodged stone had revealed a dark entrance, black and uninviting.

As he moved forward, so did the rest of his team. He reached the opening first, drawing his flashlight and pointing it inside. It was absolutely a tunnel, angling down into darkness. Dean winced as he saw the tightness of the gap. No room for air tanks, and no clue as to how long the tunnel would last.

Dean hesitated. He could hold his breath for a few minutes. Three minutes and twenty three seconds, at his last count. But that had been a couple of years ago and that was only if he kept completely calm. But somebody had to go in there, and he was the most qualified diver.

With his decision made, Dean freed himself from his air tanks, unstrapping them from around his waist and letting them slip away.

“ _What are you doing_?” Eileen’s voice rang through his ears, her tone clipped and urgent.

“I need to take a look,” Dean pointed two fingers to where his eyes would be behind the mask and flicked them towards the tunnel. It wasn’t true sign language, but he trusted she would get the gist.

“ _That’s not a good idea. We have no idea how far it goes_ ,” Jack objected.

“ _We could use the camera on the boat. The underwater one. Attach it to some rope and lower it down,_ ” Eileen suggested.

It was a good idea. But the camera wasn’t fully functional and they couldn’t waste time lowering it down only to find they couldn’t see anything because it wasn’t working again.

Dean shook his head. “I’ll be right back.”

He took a deep breath and unhooked the hose from his mask. He eyed the tunnel with trepidation, wishing his carried a little less muscle around the shoulders. This would be a bit of a squeeze.

He ducked his head and kicked out, sliding smoothly into the tunnel with his flashlight illuminating the way. He couldn’t shake his uneasy that he might get stuck down here. Either by the walls constricting and trapping him, or by running out of oxygen and being unable to turn around - or by encountering some kind of curse.

Dean shivered.

He’d just have to be careful and do his best to make sure this tunnel didn’t end up his watery grave.

 

 **01:22 PM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

Jack watched as Dean disappeared into the underwater tunnel with no small amount of trepidation. They were so close. Jack knew his duty had ended the moment he and Claire had returned to Vatican City. It was extremely likely that he would have received more orders to remain with the ARTEMIS team, but he hadn’t stuck around to find out. He needed to see this through just as much as the others.

Hopefully, Cardinal Duma would understand the reasons for his disappearance once Jack returned.

He held his breath has he fixated on the tunnel, feeling the anxiety emanating from both Claire and Eileen at Dean’s reckless decision to enter the tunnel alone. What if he got stuck? There was no space to turn around inside and he’d run out of breath before he made it back.

Jack glanced to the oxygen tanks discarded on the river bed. He’d feel a little better if only Dean had found a way to take them with him.

Eileen approached the opening and shone her flashlight inside. “ _I don’t see him_.”

“It’s alright,” Jack assured her. “He knows his limits.”

He didn’t need to see their faces to know Eileen and Claire weren’t convinced by his false assurances. He didn’t even believe them himself. Jack recognised the devil-may-care attitude Dean displayed and it was worrying. This was personal to him. Whether that was because of the high death toll or Castiel’s involvement remained to be seen, but Dean was acting outside of the usual parameters. Common sense didn’t seem to apply to his decision-making anymore.

A burst of static in his earpiece filled Jack’s heart with dread, but it was quickly followed up with a broken sentence.

“ _\- clear - through - don’t - tanks_.”

The team collectively sighed as one, relieved the Commander had made it through the passage safely. “Please repeat?” Jack asked.

“ _Hold -_ ”

There was silence for a long moment and then Dean reappeared at the edge of the tunnel.

“ _Something appears to be blocking our signal down there. It’s a short tunnel, angled straight down. Ten seconds at most_.”

“ _What’s down there_?” Claire asked eagerly. Jack understood her enthusiasm, bringing Eileen up to speed quickly as he listened.

“ _A maze of rocky tunnels. There’s a sort of antechamber, with five different tunnels branching off. I didn’t explore more than that_.”

Jack moved forward, declaring his decision to follow Dean into the tunnel. “I’m coming with you.”

“ _Let me make sure it’s safe_.”

“We can both make sure it’s safe for the others.” Jack insisted.

He shrugged out of his oxygen tank and vest. He wasn’t the most confident or accomplished diver, and anything that involved being on dry land again was preferable to this. Taking a deep breath, he unclipped his hose, kicking his way through the water to the tunnel opening.

He forgot to switch his flashlight on but Dean had said ten seconds. He could handle the descent in the dark for ten seconds. Kicking forward, Jack felt rather than saw the tunnel widen and his feet found solid ground.

Dean pursed his lips but helped Jack out of the water. “You should have let me go alone.”

“No, you shouldn’t have _gone_ alone,” Jack pointed out. “Besides, this has been here for centuries. Two of us aren’t going to bring it down on our heads.”

Dean gave a wry smile. “Famous last words.”

 

 **01:25 PM** **  
** **BENEATH LUXOR, EGYPT**

Mere seconds later, Claire appeared, her defiant expression visible behind her hood.

Dean repressed a sigh. “Do not move. Either of you,” he warned, slipping back into the water. He drifted back through the tunnel and stopped Eileen from joining them.

“Sammy, I’m leaving Eileen to guard the entrance. Our signal is sketchy at best down there. If there’s trouble, relay it to Eileen and she’ll come get us. I’m sending her to you now so you can let her know the plan.”

Dean signalled for Eileen to head back to the boat and caught Sam’s affirmative just as he disappeared back into the tunnel. He was gratified to find neither Claire nor Jack had disobeyed his orders, waiting patiently by the entrance for his return, although they had both lowered their hoods. Dean followed suit. It smelled a little stale, but was breathable. There must have been some gaps that led to the surface.

Jack touched one of the walls, running his fingertips across the rocky surface. “More sandstone, I’d wager.”

Dean nodded absently. This was definitely man-made, although rustic and ragged in its design. These tunnels were built for purpose, not beauty. There was no pattern, no frescos, no sign posts. Just five crudely carved tunnels.

Remembering Claire’s theory that the sigil guarding the tunnels was representative of a curse, Dean had no doubt that this was another test. The correct path would lead them to their destination and the false tunnels would result in some nasty consequence - a trap of some design.

“Which tunnel do we pick? They all look the same to me.” Claire voiced aloud the very thing Dean had been thinking. There was no visible distinction between the tunnels. They all looked the same from his first inspection.

“Should we just pick one and hope for the best?” Jack suggested, warily. “It seems like a bad idea, but if there’s a rhyme or reason to navigating these tunnels, I don’t see it.”

Dean shook his head, thinking hard. There must be some kind of difference between them. He examined each tunnel again. Three of them were flat, two of them rocky and the third layered with sand. One spiralled upwards and the fifth descended into darkness. Which was the right path?

“I can’t see any differences,” he sighed eventually. “So, I guess we try to work it out based on our destination?”

Claire nodded her agreement. “Valley of the Kings is north east from here,” she nodded towards the flat sandy tunnel. “So maybe that one?”

Dean nodded and threw an arm out, blocking Jack from passing him. “Me first,” he insisted, taking the lead. He was the more cautious out of the two, the more expendable. If there was a trap here, he would encounter it first. Dean’s eyes darted about cautiously, examining every inch of the tunnel as he stepped inside.

Nothing happened.

He sighed in relief and took another step forward. Claire must have been right, this riddle was meant to be solved simply by knowing the direction of their destination.

Dean froze, his foot hovering in the air just as he was about to take his next step. “Back up. Now.”

Claire and Jack obeyed instantly, shuffling out of the tunnel as quickly as possible. Dean brought the leg that was hovering over the floor back behind him, stepping backwards out of the tunnel. He was careful not to disturb anything too much, cold dread making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“What is it?”

“I don’t think that was the right tunnel after all. I think we’re supposed to solve this tunnel a different way. You’re right, it’s to do with direction, but not compass directions.”

Claire blinked. “Then what?”

Dean pointed towards the tunnel that descended into darkness. “I think that’s where we’re meant to go.”

Jack pulled a face and Dean understood. It was the smallest and darkest of the tunnels. Jack and Claire would be able to pass through a little uncomfortably but Dean would struggle. He was taller than both of them and would need to keep his head down in order to stop his head hitting the ceiling of the passageway. It would be cramped but he was convinced this was the way to go.

“Why that one?” Jack pressed. “Not that I don’t trust you, but I’d feel better if I heard your logic.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched. He appreciated that Jack wasn’t afraid to question something he didn’t understand. He much preferred that than for them to blindly follow him into the darkness ahead.

“Remember what the riddle said? ‘ _Where it drowns, it takes its place with the buried Boy King. Down, down, down, to the eternal resting place of the Eldest son_.’ I think there are going to be three crossroads where we have to pick a tunnel and each time we need to pick the tunnel that descends.”

Claire was already nodding by the time he finished speaking. “I think you’re right. That makes much more sense than my theory.”

Jack agreed, eyeing the tunnel they had just entered as if it was about to collapse at any moment. “Perhaps we were a little hasty. Lead the way, Commander.”

Dean kept his flashlight on as he entered the tunnel but gestured for the others to keep theirs off. They had no idea how long the passage stretched for, so they needed to save the batteries. Pausing for a moment, he traced a careful arrow in the sand, marking the passage they’d taken in case Sam or Eileen needed to come after them. His feet edged forward slowly, uncertainly, ready to react to any traps or dangers that might make themselves apparent. When nothing happened, Dean felt himself relax but still proceeded with caution.

They descended through the tunnel, winding down and around and eventually reaching another set of crossroads. This time, there were six tunnels to choose from. Only one of them led downwards. Confident now that they were on the right track, Dean paused long enough to draw another arrow in the sand with his foot, pointing them back the way they came, before continuing on. It wouldn’t do for them to get lost.

The second passageway was shorter and Dean quickly found himself at the third and final crossroads. He glanced back to make sure Claire and Jack were behind him before gesturing for them to follow him, but hang back. The air grew thinner around them as they descended further. Dean was just glad they could breathe at all but he did regret that he hadn’t been able to bring his oxygen tanks with him, just in case.

The final tunnel only led them downwards for half a minute before pointing them back upwards. Dean slowed, concerned that he’d been wrong after all. The riddle had only mentioned down, down, down. It had said nothing about them heading upwards. And yet, their destination couldn’t be down here. If they truly were heading to Valley of the Kings, they’d be too far underneath it to find anything of value. No, this had to be right.

The passage curved on, up and seemingly endless, Dean’s chest becoming tighter as the oxygen became more and more restricted. He was just about to turn back to suggest they all retrieve their air tanks when the passage widened and his flashlight lit up an open space ahead.

“Wait here.”

Dean edged upwards slowly, shining his light ahead of him until he reached room ahead. He stopped dead, turning so the beam lit up the entire room.

“What do you see?” Jack called, impatience ringing through his words.

Dean shook his head. He didn’t think he could put it into words. “I think you’d better see for yourselves.”

 

 **02:23 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

The monitor flickered to life as the infrared camera suddenly decided to start working again.

Sam’s eyes flickered towards it instinctively, setting down his water bottle as he registered the display. Eileen was doing some sort of underwater workout, stretching and curving and she moved her body smoothly. Cocking his head to the side, Sam turned to give the monitor his full attention. He could see how much control she had, the current of the river not budging her an inch. She knew her body, she know just how much flexibility she had.

Eileen stretched out her leg and and arched her back, and Sam’s mouth went dry.

He turned away, ashamed of his spying. Who was he kidding? Eileen had never looked at him twice. Sure, there were signals there from the start of this mission but it was her first time out in the field in a long time. Everyone dealt with the constant adrenaline rush differently, and she was just projecting her intense emotions towards him. As soon as they were back in Washington, she would move on.

Sam wouldn’t find that so easy to do.

He flicked the camera off, since it wasn’t needed anymore. They’d found what they were looking for and Eileen was doing a good job of keeping an eye out underwater. Sam regretted his decision not to join the team, though. The afternoon sun was baking hot and he was sweaty and uncomfortable from his position on the boat. Even in the shade, it was hotter than a hundred degrees. His suit chafed from where it hung at his waist, leaving him bare chested and he was sweaty in places he’d rather not think too much about.

Lifting his binoculars to his eyes, Sam turned back to the horizon, first scanning the land, then tracing the route down the Nile to their boat. First one side, then -

Movement caught his attention as he looked south of their location, away from Valley of the Kings. A large boat, dull grey. It was bigger than the tiny boat they’d managed to secure. Hydrofoil. Sam watched, eyes narrowed. It was fast and it was heading right this way.

He zoomed in with his lenses, getting a better look. The first thing he noticed was a tanned, bare midriff. Blinking, Sam zoomed out just a little. Two women, clad in skimpy bikinis and drinking champagne from crystal flutes.

Sam rolled his eyes even as the tension slipped from his shoulders. Clearly, he was living the wrong kind of life. He wondered what he would have done if he hadn’t ended up working for ARTEMIS and then snorted. Right. Like there was a universe where he wouldn’t have followed Dean into a life of danger.

“ _Sam_.”

Sam lowered his binoculars and turned back towards the tunnel entrance. “Yeah, Eileen, what’s up?”

Eileen had seemingly finished her workout and surfaced, hanging on to the side of the boat so she could maintain a conversation. Although, Sam was pleased to note, her eyes weren’t currently fixed on his face, but his bare torso. He resisted the urge to flex.

“There’s static or something in the earpiece. My light keeps flickering out intermittently. Is it you?” Eileen cleared her throat.

Worried, Sam shook his head slowly. “No, that’s not me. I’ll run some diagnostics. It could be the others, hopping in and out of range, you know?”

He checked his watch even as he spoke. The others had been gone for almost an hour now and he was growing concerned. But he stayed his hand, not willing to abandon their boat to go in after Dean and the others until he knew for sure. It would take them at least an hour on foot to reach Valley of the Kings from here. If they were winding through long-unused underwater tunnels, it might taken them even longer.

He just had to be patient.

“Good point,” Eileen mused.

Sam reached out to the radio and reset the channel, ignoring the feedback whine that echoed in his ear.

“How’s that?”

Eileen examined her wrist and then smiled. “Better. The light is steady again.”

Sam returned the smile, unable to help himself. “Let me know if it happens again.”

“Will do.” Eileen pushed herself off from the boat and disappeared below the surface. Sam pointedly chose not to watch her leave, lifting his binoculars with a sigh. It was never going to happen.

 

 **02:24 PM** **  
** **VALLEY OF THE KINGS, EGYPT**

Claire was the last to step into the chamber, Dean and Jack stepping to each side to allow her passage. Breathless, she found her eyes drifting to every visible object in the room. She and Jack had both clicked their flashlights on now, shining them around. The beams of light illuminated the chamber well enough that Claire’s attention first fell on the markings on the opposite wall. Hieroglyphs. She knew they would tell her so much, would explain everything about the origins of this chamber. If only she could translate them.

“Can you take pictures?” She asked. “The walls. I can’t read hieroglyphs but this would be an incredible find for history. They’ll probably be full of information.”

“I can do one better. Send them to Sam, we’ll get him to run it through PROPHET.”

“Profit?”

“Like a religious prophet. It’s a computer program created by DARPA. I can’t remember what the name stands for but it will translate pretty much any language in existence from photographs, text, or live video,” Dean explained. He’d used it a few times, it had been one of the amazing inventions Kevin had brought to ARTEMIS over the course of his career.

Claire immediately took Dean’s phone and began taking pictures of every inch of the walls, making sure she covered every angle. It was only when she’d finished sending them to Sam’s laptop that she turned her attention to the object that had drawn both Dean and Jack’s complete focus since the moment they’d entered the chamber.

A large, incredibly ornate, golden sarcophagus.

“Who _is_ that?” She breathed.

Dean shook his head absently, looking down at a piece of equipment Jack had handed to him. “I’m not sure, but according to this satellite map, about sixty feet that way,” he nodded to the far wall, “lies Tutankhamun’s tomb.”

“That’s impossible!” Jack exclaimed. “Tutankhamun’s tomb was examined for secret rooms only recently.”

“As far back as thirteen feet,” Claire corrected, her voice shaking. The gravity of where they were and what they had discovered was suddenly weighing on her. This was probably the biggest archaeological find since Howard Carter had first discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922. They were probably the first people to step foot in here in centuries. “Dean just said we’re at least sixty.”

She shone her light onto the sarcophagus and stepped further into the room, circling it. There were dozens of urns here, historical treasures beyond her wildest dreams. She didn’t need to look further than that to know that this sarcophagus contained someone of great importance, whoever that might be. There were hundreds of mummified cats, attributing to the musty smell of the room. Whatever oils and scents the mummies had been prepared in were long gone.

A glint of light caught Claire’s eye and she leaned over the sarcophagus to get a better look. There was some sort of symbol made of golden glass, camouflaged against the solid gold of the casket. Her hand reached out and she hovered an inch or so over the glass. There was a small gap there, where part of the glass was missing. No doubt some accidental damage when moving it here. She tried to imagine the shape as whole, tracing it with her fingers and trying to make sense of it.

“What is it?” Dean seemed to have noticed her sudden focus.

Claire narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure, there’s something here, I just…” she stopped and let out a loud gasp that echoed in the silence of the tomb. Her hand flew back from the sarcophagus, clutching at her chest in shock as everything came together.

“It can’t be,” she breathed.

“Can’t be what?” Jack asked sharply, peering down at the casket.

Claire turned to them with wide eyes, a trembling finger pointing down at the symbol concealed in the chest of the sarcophagus. “That symbol. It’s the same as on the stone that blocked the entrance here.”

Dean frowned. “So? More evidence of a supposed curse? I guess that means this sarcophagus will resist being opened…”

But Claire shook her head again, willing him to understand. “That’s not what I mean. It’s the mark of Cain, that’s what we determined, right? Then what is it doing here? The only conclusion I can draw is that this sarcophagus -”

She could see the exact moment comprehension dawned on the Commander’s face and he looked down at the golden casket in awe.

“-belongs to Cain,” she finished in a whisper.

They all stared down at the sarcophagus in silence. The more Claire stared at it, the more she was convinced she was right. The features of the golden face were definitely not that which she’d come to expect from an Egyptian sarcophagus. The level of detail and ornate offerings in the tomb implied this belonged to a man of great importance of his time, enough that it had been concealed from prying eyes. Not a Pharaoh, but someone whose significance was to be concealed.

They had been looking for a link between Tutankhamun and Cain, and here it was. Tutankhamun had inherited the sarcophagus that contained the remains of his ancestor. Tutankhamun was a pure descendant of the Father of Murder.

“So, do we think his body is in there?” Dean asked awkwardly. “Because I imagine Cain predates mummification. The smell is gonna be powerful if we open that. And gross. Super gross.”

Jack shook her head. “I imagine any remains are little more than dust now.”

Claire nodded her agreement. There probably wouldn’t be anything left to decompose after thousands of years. Unless they’d been preserved in some way.

“Then we should open it. There must be something in there that we’re supposed to find. There’s nothing else in here.” Dean examined the lid of the sarcophagus, tracing his finger around the seam. “There’s no lock, but there’s a couple of hinges. It looks like it would just open.”

Claire threw out an arm to stop Dean from doing exactly that. “Let’s not be so quick to act. Whoever lay this trail hasn’t made it that easy for us so far,” she pointed out. “I doubt they’re going to start now. There’s something we’re missing here.”

Jack hummed quietly. “I think I have an idea, actually.”

He stepped forward and shone his flashlight directly into the glass symbol on the chest of the sarcophagus, gauging the symbol for himself now he knew what he was looking for. “The riddle speaks of finding the eternal resting place of the Eldest son. We now know that means Cain. But it isn’t Cain’s body that’s important here, is it? It’s his bloodline.”

Claire nodded, following along with his logic. That was true enough, this whole journey had been about Cain’s bloodline - the immunity from the virus, the blood superiority from the Demon Court. His bones didn’t matter once they found out the relics that started the whole mission were fakes, made up of the powdered virus.

“So, I think that’s what we’ll find inside the sarcophagus. And I think that’s what the price is of opening it.” Jack pointed to the small opening in the centre of the glass.

Claire inhaled sharply. “We need to unlock it with -”

Jack nodded. “Blood.”

 

 **02:47 PM** **  
** **VALLEY OF THE KINGS, EGYPT**

Dean waited impatiently for Eileen’s arrival through the tunnels, his stomach filled with lead. They had come so far and yet it seemed like they were going to lose their headstart. From the moment Jack had said that they needed to open the sarcophagus with blood, Dean had realised he was right. But he’d also realised that not any blood would do. This trail had tested their worthiness, their knowledge at every turn.

They would need the blood of a pure descendant. Unfortunately, the only descendants Dean knew of were the Demon Court. He doubted they’d be so kind as to just hand over a blood sample and let the ARTEMIS team walk out unscathed.

Eileen’s pack held their only hope. The vial of blood she carried that hadn’t worked when they tried to mix it with the blood powder they’d gotten in Venice. They’d hypothesised that it might be the blood of a pure descendant of Cain but it was time to put it to the test. Thankfully, now they were above ground, they’d been able to use their radios again. They’d checked in with Sam and Eileen and now Eileen was on her way with the vial.

It had taken them an hour to get through the tunnels, but that was out of caution that they might be going the wrong way. Now they knew their path was true and had been marked with arrows for Eileen, he’d asked her to get here as fast as she could. Dean could run three miles in just over nineteen minutes. It had been twenty since Eileen had departed so it wouldn’t be much longer before she was here. They needed to speed things up. It was surprising they’d even had this much of a head start on the Demon Court. They wouldn’t be much longer.

A panting Eileen rounded the corner, her face red and sweaty. Dean pointedly didn’t check his watch because he knew she’d made excellent time. Yet another reason to request her as an addition to his team. He’d work with Eileen again in a heartbeat.

“Commander.” She held out the pack, hunching over as she took deep breaths, trying to get her breath back, while maintaining eye contact. “That was further than I thought.”

Dean took her kit and rooted through it for the vial. “How are things up top?”

“Pretty quiet,” she coughed. “Sam fixed a radio glitch, there was some static and my wrist light kept cutting out.”

Dean nodded uneasily. The radio signal was difficult down here. It worked within the tomb, but was nonexistent for the second two tunnels and only intermittent in the first. Between Eileen leaving here and getting back to Sam, there was no way of getting in touch with her. Which would be fine if Dean wasn’t totally on edge, expecting a potential ambush at any moment. Eileen would have no warning.

“Stick around for a moment, get your breath back. We might still need you,” Dean told her.

He unstoppered the vial, feeling the chill from Eileen’s refrigerated kit and hesitated. “So we just pour some through that hole?”

Jack pointed to the top of the symbol. “Here. It’s concave, so the blood should drip down onto that small plateau inside.”

Dean still hesitated. He wasn’t sure what was making him so uneasy. It was reasonable to assume they had one shot at opening the sarcophagus. He wanted to make sure they definitely got it right. Dean set the vial down firmly, bringing out his diving knife. He gave it a quick wipe and pulled off his glove with his teeth.

“What are you doing?” Eileen asked, stepping forward to catch his eye.

He looked at her levelly. “We need to know if the blood has worked. So I want to see what happens if we first use the wrong blood.”

He stuck the tip of the blade into the pad of his pinky finger and pierced the skin with ease. Setting the knife aside, Dean held his finger over the top of the symbol and let the pooling droplet of blood dribble down. He watched as it slowly ran down the conclave and held his breath as it clung to the edge for a long moment before it dripped down into the sarcophagus.

Nothing happened.

Dean nodded, mostly to himself. That was expected. He retrieved the vial and poured a small amount, careful to make sure there was still some blood left. He fixed his attention on the path of the blood as it smoothly oozed down the concave shape of the mark of Cain. It poured down thickly, jet black in the limited light of the chamber and Dean waited to hear something. The click release of a lock. The whirring of mechanisms. But once again, nothing happened.

“It… didn’t work?” Jack’s face fell.

He looked around the group, completely at a loss. He could feel despair hanging over him. This had been their only chance.

“So, what do we do now?”

 

 **02:51 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Sam sighed, feeling the effects of the intense heat and copious quantities of water he’d drank since he’d been left up top. In his attempt to keep hydrated, he’d yet to consider the fact that he would, sooner or later, need to take a leak. Besides which, he was bored. With Eileen here to casually check in every few minutes, he’d been sufficiently entertained. She was an excellent conversationalist.

But now she was with the others, and Sam was feeling the effects of solitude.

Just as he contemplated this, his earpiece burst to life. “ _You there, Sammy_?”

“Yeah, what’s up, Dean?”

“ _It didn’t work. What’s the shelf life on the blood Eileen brought? Could it have… I don’t know, expired or something? How long does blood usually last outside of the body_?”

Sam frowned. “About fifteen minutes. It’s usually separated for storage, into red blood cells and plasma.”

Silence. Then, “ _You mean we don’t have actual blood here_?”

“No, we do. In order to keep whole blood liquid outside of the human body, you need to mix it with some sort of preservative solution. ARTEMIS uses the typical solution, citrate-phosphate-dextrose.”

Sam picked up his binoculars as Dean fell silent again. He could hear some sort of commotion on the deck of the large boat from earlier and he wanted to check it out. Better safe than sorry.

“ _Do you think this CPD solution is interfering with whatever is inside the sarcophagus? Stopping it from reacting even though the DNA is right_?”

“It’s possible,” Sam replied honestly, peering at the boat, but he could still only see the two bikini-clad women from earlier. “But I couldn’t tell you for sure, not without seeing the internal mechanisms. But if it’s not working, that’s the most likely guess. The alchemists that led us here, they’ve been pretty good about stopping any shortcuts so far. I doubt they’re going to let you take one now.”

“ _Yeah, that’s what I figured. Thanks anyway. All quiet up there_ ? _How are those pictures coming?_ ”

“Just finished downloading them now. I’ll let you know the second anything changes.”

The radio fell silent again and Sam was left alone, peering through his binoculars. There were a few less boats on the river now, the afternoon sun drawing most of the tourists away to cooler locations. It left Sam feeling uneasy.

They needed to figure out how to get the next clue soon or they’d miss their chance to get it at all.

 

 **02:53 PM** **  
** **VALLEY OF THE KINGS, EGYPT**

Dean paced the chamber, frantically trying to think. Was there a way to extract the solution from the blood? If there was, they probably couldn’t manage it with the limited equipment they had. Not only that, it would add another forty-five minutes on the round trip to the boat and then back again, without even factoring in the time to purify the blood.

And then Sam had said it probably wouldn’t last more than fifteen minutes outside of the body. Dean was fast, but even he couldn’t do three miles in under fifteen minutes.

He didn’t know what to do.

“I suppose our only move is to try it ourselves,” Eileen suggested.

Dean stumbled. “Huh?”

“We need the blood of a pure descendant. We don’t have any. The only blood around here is in our bodies. We can rule your blood out, since it didn’t work, so we can also rule out Sam. But there’s still me, and Jack and Claire.”

Jack sighed. “The chances of that actually working are infinitesimal. There can’t be more than a handful of pure descendants outside of the court’s control.”

“Yes,” Eileen agreed. “I know. But the way I see it, we’re fucked anyway. We do this just to rule it out, then we start working out a way we can get the information from the Demon Court once they’ve unlocked it. Maybe we ambush them. Maybe Castiel helps us. We could even discuss destroying the clue so neither of us gets it.”

Dean’s head whipped around sharply. “Not an option. We’ve come this far -”

“I agree, but if it’s the choice of the Court getting the clue or nobody? I pick nobody. But before it comes to that, we have one small avenue left available to us.”

With a weary wave of his hand, Dean leaned against the wall. Sure. What could it hurt? Eileen was right, they couldn’t get at the information themselves. So, they’d need to get it from the Demon Court. It was his job to figure out how to do that, to navigate the Demon Court’s immense fire power and find a way to obtain the clue that would put them back on even footing.

So, how? What was the best plan?

Not out in the open, that was out of the question. The Luxor authorities would respond too swiftly for them to get what they needed and slip away. But down here, there was nowhere to hide. They were too wary of traps to use the incorrect tunnels, and there was nowhere to hide within this chamber.

Perhaps underwater?

While Dean was contemplating the best means of ambush, Eileen and Jack had both stripped off their gloves and were taking turns cutting their thumb pads. Dean watched, first as Eileen’s blood dripped down to the plateau and then Jack’s, but both times were met with the same lack of reaction as Dean’s.

He sighed. “Well, that’s that then. We might as well head back, strategise all together on the boat.”

“I haven’t gone yet.” Claire frowned.

“You don’t need to. Jack went. Same way we didn’t need Sam because I went. If Jack’s not a pure descendant, neither are you.”

Claire looked at him like he was stupid and Dean wondered what he was missing. “We’re not blood relatives. Jack and I were both adopted by the same parents.”

Although thrown by the news, which explained the lack of family resemblance between the two, it didn’t make a difference to Dean’s orders. “It doesn’t matter. What are the chances this is actually going to work? We should cut our losses and stop wasting time.”

Eileen stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “Commander, let her do it. Trust me.”

When Dean nodded, Claire grabbed at the knife and slashed along her thumb with a wince, letting blood pool on the surface. Dean watched through narrowed eyes, wondering why Eileen had insisted he let her try. It was a waste of time. But it would be only seconds, not a true inconvenience, so he’d granted the request to satisfy his own curiosity.

Claire held her hand over the symbol, clenched into a fist with her thumb outstretched. Dean traced the path of the blood as it fell, bypassing the concave path all together and dripping directly onto the plateau. When nothing happened, he turned to order them all out of the tunnel, but the words didn’t even form on his tongue.

A long, slow creaking sound echoed in the chamber and Dean turned to see the lid of the sarcophagus open on two hinges, leaving it perpendicular to the coffin.

“How did you know?” He breathed at Eileen.

“Crowley’s orders were to leave Claire alive, we heard that in Venice. So, she’s important to the Court. I’ve been wondering about that for a while and this seemed to make the most sense to me. Her blood purity makes her valuable to them.”

Claire looked stunned, her gaze flickering from her clenched fist back to the open sarcophagus. Her eyes betrayed her devastation that she came from the same bloodline as the people who had been trying to kill them from the beginning.

Dean took a step forward, meaning to offer words of comfort that he hadn’t even decided on yet but Jack got there first, sliding an arm around Claire’s shoulders and whispering in her ear. Good. Jack would remind her that family didn’t end with blood. That he was her real family, regardless of bloodline.

Instead, he approached the open sarcophagus, peering inside. It was pretty much empty, apart from one small object.

A tiny urn, fitting easily in the palm of his hand. Dean picked up the container with a raised eyebrow and lifted the lid. There was liquid inside, something thick and black, but when Dean retrieved a swab from Eileen’s kit and dipped it in, the flashlight beam showed the end to be crimson.

“Blood,” Jack breathed. Claire looked away.

“It can’t be. Sam just told us that blood only lasts outside the body for fifteen minutes. This has been here for millennia.”

Claire interrupted them. “Look at this.” She stood in front of the sarcophagus. Dean allowed himself to be nudged out of the way as Claire shone her torch directly through the golden glass symbol.  On the wall behind the sarcophagus lid, the shape of the symbol highlighted a row of hieroglyphs perfectly. With the light behind the golden glass, they changed shape and burst into colour, vivid reds and blues.

“This must be the other part of the clue,” Eileen gasped.

“Are we definitely pointing at the right symbols?” Dean asked.

Claire nodded, shifting her flashlight beam so it pointed at an angle, highlighting different symbols. They stayed the same, with no vibrant increase in saturation. It was fascinating - when the light was shone on the wall without the glass in between, the hieroglyphs were indistinguishable from each other. But there were hieroglyphs hidden beneath, only visible through the glass. She snapped another picture and sent it straight through to Sam.

“Eileen, head back up and hurry Sam up with those translations. We can’t get out of here until we know for sure we’ve gotten the complete clue. Claire, go with her. We’re finishing up here anyway.”

Eileen nodded and took off back down the tunnel at a run. Claire lingered for a second but didn’t disobey. Dean turned his eyes back to the sarcophagus, biting his lip. They had the urn, the blood of Cain, if that’s what it was. They still hadn’t figured that out. But what they _had_ figured out was the importance of the golden glass. It was the only thing that allowed them to see which of the hieroglyphics were most important.

In that instant, Dean realised what he had to do. “Many apologies, Professor Novak,” he muttered to himself as reached out and jabbed his knife through the glass, shattering it cleanly.

“No!” Jack’s mouth fell open in horror at the broken fragments of glass left in the bottom on the sarcophagus. “Why did you do that?”

“We can’t have the Court finding out any information that was left here. We’ve got this urn and now they’ll never find out what the clue is.” Dean knocked out the rest of the glass with the handle of his blade sweeping it up into his glove and dropping it into one of the urns in the corner. Even if the Court looked there, they’d never realise the significance of it.

Dean held back a smile. Finally, they’d gotten out in front.

 

 **03:01 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

From below deck on the hydrofoil, Crowley changed into his wetsuit. This expensive piece of machinery was owned by the Men of Letters and the Court had paid through the nose to rent it. Crowley doubted they would have even allowed the loan if Castiel hadn’t been smoothing the way.

“Bring us a little closer. Don’t raise suspicion, the brother that looks like a moose has had his binoculars on us already,” he told the Captain, a dark-skinned man with a nasty grin on his face.

As he stepped out of the cabin, he was flanked by two young women, clad in bikinis. They’d served as the distraction, to make their ship less of a threat if spotted by ARTEMIS. But the coldness in their eyes showed they were much more than just a beautiful distraction. They were just as deadly as every other member of the Court.

Crowley stormed down the hallway towards his men, all too aware that while the manpower was under his authority, the ship was not. Everyone was in their place, however. Ten men would join him on the dive. Two of his men had been left behind to operate the helicopter they had managed to procure, also from the Men of Letters. Ishim was tucked safely inside his cabin, preparing to decipher the next part of the clues they’d found here.

There was one other addition to his team.

The outsider.

Castiel stood in his own cabin, the door wide open as he attached his oxygen tanks. His suit was unzipped down to his navel. He glanced up at Crowley’s arrival, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Crowley once again burned with ire, wanting nothing more than to be rid of this impure filth he’d been saddled with.

But the decision was not his to make.

Castiel had insisted on accompanying the team and the Imperator had granted permission. Not even Castiel’s slick assurances that he would simply observe silently had calmed the fury that Crowley had felt when he’d found out.

“Three minutes,” Crowley grunted.

They would go overboard as the hydrofoil turned around, almost as if they were tourists wanting to view the Luxor temple from their boat. They would swim from there.

Castiel zipped his suit up in a smooth motion. “I’ve had your radio man jamming their radio signal intermittently. That should buy us a few moments before they realise it’s not a technical hitch.”

Crowley nodded curtly. Castiel was useful, he’d give him that. “Let’s go.”

 

 **03:11 PM** **  
** **VALLEY OF THE KINGS, EGYPT**

Dean checked his watch. It had been just under fifteen minutes since Eileen and Claire had left. If Claire managed to keep up with Eileen, they would be back at the boat in about half that, maybe a little longer.

“ _Dean? Those photographs finished scanning_.” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts. “ _There’s not a lot we don’t already know, to be honest. It talks about Cain and Abel and the purity of the bloodline and the immunity from the disease of Resheph._ ”

Disappointed, Dean squinted at the wall where the colourful hieroglyphs had been. “Okay. What about the symbols Claire sent.” He took his phone back from Claire and flicked through the gallery till he found what he was looking for. “Image twenty three, starting just after the semicircle that looks like a bowl.”

“ _Hold on, let me get it… alright. It mentions that the survivors of the Great Flood_ _could be found atop Mount Ararat. Then when you look at it through the glass, it says,_ ‘ _Cain left Abel to eternally rest atop Mount Qasioun_.’”

“Mount Cassoon?” Dean repeated.

“Q-A-S-I-O-U-N,” Jack clarified for him. “It’s in Syria.”

“ _It’s the place where Cain supposedly killed Abel,_ ” Sam piped up. “ _It makes sense that Abel was left there to be buried. So, that’s where we’re supposed to go_?”

Dean nodded, a little disappointed. “Honestly, I figured we’d get something a little more specific than a mountain.”

Jack spoke up again, shaking his head. “No, I think this is perfect.” His voice barely concealed his excitement, his face had brightened exponentially with whatever realisation he had come to. “It’s directing us to the Cave of Blood.”

“The Cave of Blood?”

“So named because the cave was the site of the first murder. There are some prayer niches in there, and a mosque was built above it. You can still enter. I think that’s where we’re supposed to go.”

Dean thought about it. They still had one part of the riddle left.  _The brother waits to ascend, below an angelic hand. He lingers, seeking family to show him the way._

“It makes sense that we’re supposed to find Abel’s body,” he said at last. “And I think we’re supposed to add this liquid to his remains.”

Jack nodded his agreement. “He wants to be reunited with his brother, is unable to truly rest and be at peace until he does.”

Dean wasn’t sure he’d quite go that far, but he could see where Jack was coming from. He chose not to argue. Religion was a sore point that he was sure he and Jack would never see eye-to-eye on. “And the angelic hand?”

“Yes,” Jack nodded. “I’m getting to that. There are two rumours that I’ve come across relating to this. It’s believed that when Cain killed Abel, Abel left a handprint in the wall of the cave, as a reminder of his existence. That doesn’t really help us. The other story  I’ve heard is that when Cain committed this act of murder, the mountain crumbled and wept so violently, that the Archangel Gabriel came down to soothe it, leaving an imprint of his hand behind. Whichever story is true, the handprint is there.”

 _Below an angelic hand._ Then they had their next destination.

“Sam, get the boat ready.”

A loud, jarring static was his only response. Jack snatched his earpiece out and Dean winced, but tried to talk through it. “Sam? Eileen? Claire?”

He remembered Eileen’s comment about Sam fixing a glitch in their signal. He listened for a moment longer, feeling his blood run cold.

Crap.

That wasn’t static. They were being jammed.

“Run,” he ordered, shoving Jack ahead of him as they exited the tunnel.

Jack didn’t argue, just set off at a sprint, moving back up through the winding passage as fast as he could. “What’s going on?”

“The Demon Court is here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, PROPHET stands for Programmed Resources for Obscure Phonemes in History, Ensuring Translation. Yes, I actually put thought into that.


	13. A Divided Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be super busy on Monday and probably won't be able to post - so have a third chapter this week, because there won't be another chapter until May 6th!

**APRIL 25TH, 03:15 PM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

Eileen dove headfirst into the water, kicking her legs furiously.

As soon as she and Claire had reached the last of the tunnels, Claire had slowed and repeated the conversation she could hear through the earpiece, though it was broken up in places. When the earpieces had gone out altogether, leaving only static behind, unease had niggled at Eileen. Even if this didn’t spell trouble, if it was the same glitch as before, Sam needed to be told so they could fix it. It was their only means of communication with Jack and the Commander. So, Eileen had ran ahead, able to cover the distance much quicker than Claire.

She surfaced with a gasp of air, eyes fixed on Sam. His binoculars were fixed to his face and were trained on something downriver. The sight only added to Eileen’s nerves.

“Sam-”

“Something’s not right.” He turned his head in her direction so she could read his lips. “Get the others, we need to go now.”

She surged upwards, using the momentum to flip herself down in a vertical dive. Making straight for the tunnel, it was movement inside that stopped her from entering it. She kicked to one side as Claire’s sleek form jettisoned out of the tunnel, the lilac stripe emblazoned across her chest her only identifying feature.

Eileen moved into view, trying to find a way to communicate the urgency of their situation when the jammed earpieces rendered _both_ of them deaf. Claire grasped at her shoulders, locking their gaze together.

“We need to get the others.”

“They’re coming,” Claire mouthed back. “I heard them.”

Relieved, Eileen twisted herself around in the water, squinting back up at the boat. Everything still seemed clear, no hostiles in sight, but the anchor was raising. Sam was preparing for departure. If the Commander was on his way, he must also have recognised that the radio static meant trouble. Which meant he and Jack were probably already at least halfway through the tunnel.

Kicking up towards the surface, she felt rather than heard the vibration above the water. The low visibility made it impossible to see the source of the vibration but she didn’t need to see it. As a military intelligence officer, she’d felt this exact hum many times before.

A helicopter.

There was only one reason for a helicopter - artillery support from above - which meant there was only one possible target. Eyes locked on the boat, Eileen kicked upwards frantically, but she knew she’d never make it to the surface to warn Sam in time.

 

 **03:16 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Sam started the engine, keeping his binoculars trained on the hydrofoil boat he’d been keeping an eye on. It had slowed and looped around as if to turn away but they arced too close to the divers for Sam’s liking. Then the radio had burst into static, a constant whine that Sam knew immediately wasn’t a technical fault. They were being jammed.

He’d barely had time to contemplate how to flag down the others when Eileen appeared. He was glad to have someone to pass on the message because they’d officially worn out their welcome.

The sound of rotor blades drew Sam’s attention and he turned his binoculars towards the sound. It was coming in fast. Sam’s eyes fixated on the cockpit. As the binoculars adjusted themselves, Sam saw the door slide open and the person inside wielding a long cylindrical weapon that was resting against his shoulder.

“Crap, crap, crap!”

Haphazardly, Sam flung the binoculars away, shoving the throttle to full and jerking backwards when the boat jerked forward. He twisted the wheel away from Eileen, jamming his mask over his head. He didn’t even have the time to pull his suit back over his arms as he heard the thunderous sound of the weapon discharging.

With the boat moving beneath him, Sam ran for the stern, propelling himself off the back and catapulting into the air.

Behind him, the RPG found its target. The force of the explosion was disorienting and Sam was thrown head-first away from the blast. Shrapnel flew by his head, missing him by an inch. He didn’t even have time to be grateful as he felt the searing heat of the flames behind him, as if they were trying to drag him back into danger.

Then, Sam’s head hit the water and he sank to the bottom, dizzy and confused at exactly what had just happened.

 

 **03:17 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Claire had broken the surface just as Sam had jumped overboard. Eyes widened in panic, she reacted on instinct alone and pushed herself back down into the water, twisting around to keep herself under.

When the explosion hit, she thought she was going to drown. The concussive wave almost deafened her, even underwater and with her thick hood. The seals on her mask broke, allowing water to rush in and overwhelm her, just as the air was knocked from the lungs.

She flailed around, blind and desperate for air. It was sheer luck that the direction she pushed herself towards was upwards.

Coughing and spluttering, Claire emptied her mask, spitting out mouthfuls of dirty river water and trying not to gag. Her eyes stung, sand and debris clouding her vision and she blinked furiously as her sight went from a blur of colours, to indistinguishable shapes, to recognisable landscape. Smoke billowed from the wreckage of the boat, thick and acrid.

Attention was starting to be drawn from the surrounding citizens, shouts and screams caused by the explosion were audible from both sides of the river. Most of the other boats had left now, fleeing from the trouble. No doubt the authorities would be here soon enough. She looked around, taking in the debris littering the surface of the river, the colourful slick streaks of gasoline and oil that were still burning on the surface of the waves.

She couldn’t see Sam or Eileen anywhere.

Then to her right, a scrambling shape rose from the depth. It was Sam, choking and bleeding heavily from a wound on his shoulder.

Claire swam over to him and grabbed his arm. His mask had gotten turned around in the chaos, the visor at the back of his head, so she eased it around as he gagged.

“Where’s Dean?” He demanded, between precious gulps of air.

“He’s coming. I backtracked a little way and screamed as loud as I could. I heard him call back. They’re on the way.”

Over Sam’s shoulder, Claire saw the helicopter turn around, swinging towards them. Jabbing her finger towards it, she knew they would never be able to outswim it. It was _fast_ and it was coming right for them. Out of options, Claire ducked under the water, pulling Sam with her. They needed to retrieve the oxygen tanks from the tunnel entrance.

The swirling clouds of silt and debris had lowered the visibility under the murky water even further. Claire couldn’t see past her own outstretched hand, forced to stick close to Sam to make sure they didn’t get separated as she guided them down towards the passageway.

She reached the entrance and searched for the tanks in vain. Had she gotten turned around? Was she in the wrong place? She felt around blindly, wondering if the others had already retreated, taking the oxygen tanks with them. But Jack and Dean couldn’t have gotten here so fast.

Sam swam strongly alongside her, joining her fruitless search for their scuba tanks, but he was struggling with his unzipped suit, arms flapping around his waist and interfering with his strokes. The shadow of the hydrofoil passed above them and Claire felt the burning in her lungs as she held her breath. She had another thirty seconds if she was lucky, she’d never trained herself to hold her breath for so long.

A beam of light caught her attention and Claire’s felt relief flood her. Eileen. It was her flashlight. Kicking towards the source, Claire hoped that Eileen had simply moved the tanks somewhere they wouldn’t be discovered.

As she approached, the source of light quickly made itself known. Two divers emerged from the darkness, lamps attached to their hoods. Claire felt the pressure in her lungs build as she was backed against the wall, a glint of an arrowhead pointed directly at her throat. Spearguns.

She glanced at Sam, but found he was in an identical position to her. So, she did the only thing she could do, raising her arms above her head in surrender.

The divers exchanged a glance and then pointed upwards, ordering Claire and Sam to surface.

Claire followed suit as the last of her oxygen ran out, and she scrabbled urgently for the surface. Yet even in her relief that she was breathing air once again, she felt dread fill her.

Where was Eileen?

 

 **03:17 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Dean rounded the corner and felt relief flood through him when they reached the last of the passages that would take them back to their means of escape. He’d heard nothing more since Claire’s bloodcurdling scream reverberated through the walls all around them, and it was making him uneasy. Jack more so, he had clearly ran out of breath a while back but was showing no intention of slowing.

They’d made it back through the tunnels in record time, even while he was taking care not to damage the urn now sealed tightly within Jack’s pack. But they were still too late. The sound of an explosion forced Dean to a halt, stumbling to his knees. His heart thudded in his chest, the absence of his team filling him with concern. He forced himself to his feet and he dragged Jack with him as he backtracked as quietly as possible.

“We can’t go back, it’s a dead end.” Jack breathed. “And we can’t duck down one of the other tunnels in case they’re booby-trapped.”

Dean knew that. They were cornered, and he had only seconds to think of a plan. There was no guarantee of safety down any of the unexplored tunnels, and no chance of escape if they made it back to the tomb. They’d have to try and sneak out behind their pursuers. Dean’s eyes dropped to the arrow he’d drawn in the sand with his foot, indicating the right passage. That might be the only thing that stopped them from being caught.

The sound of splashing caught Dean’s attention and he grabbed Jack’s shoulder, hauling him back into one of the other passages, rounding the corner and pressing his back to the wall. “Don’t move any further back. Stay here until I tell you otherwise.”

He sensed rather than saw Jack bristle, flicking his flashlight off so as not to draw attention to their hiding spot. Jack would have to be patient. There was no hope of helping the others if they were dead, and if they were spotted by a member of the Demon Court, they would be. A diving knife wasn’t going to offer enough protection.

Dean risked a peek around the corner, squinting at the presence of a sudden, bright light. He ducked back just a little, narrowing his eyes against the worst of the glare and trying to see what was happening. The light vanished as the diver walked passed, clearly examining some of the tunnel entrances. One after the other, another five divers crawled out of the open passageway and gathered in the small antechamber. The last one tore his hood off, disposing of the mask as soon as he saw they were on dry land.

Dean recognised the messy dark hair and tanned skin at once and ducked back into the tunnel, holding his breath.

Castiel.

None of his teammates would dare come here now. It wasn’t safe.

“Looks like Commander Winchester has left a nice map for us,” Dean heard Castiel say, his voice tinged with amusement. He clenched his jaw, thankful he’d kicked away the other arrows below as they’d backtracked. “Let’s go.”

He waited a beat, listening to the footsteps disappear down the first passageway. Thankfully, there were no more arrows for them to follow at the next crossroads. They’d have to figure it out on their own, and that would take time. Hopefully, Dean and the rest of his team would be long gone before then.

“Stay here. I’m going to check out the entrance. I’ll come get you if it’s clear.” He told Jack, pulling his hood over his face. He left his pack behind, unwilling to risk getting caught with it. Castiel wouldn’t catch him unawares again.

Dean crept back down the passage, and as he moved out of hiding, a final diver stepped out in front of him. Dean jumped, the shape almost appearing out of thin air. The diver must have been concealed himself at the entrance, suspecting a trap. Either way, like Castiel, he wasn’t wearing a hood and Dean recognised him immediately.

The tip of something sharp pressed into Dean’s sternum, razor sharp and easily penetrating the neoprene of his diving suit, stopping just short of piercing his skin.

He looked down at the speargun and then up to Crowley’s smug, grinning face.

 

 **03:18 PM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

Claire kicked upwards, all too aware of the keen edge of the spearheads ready to skewer them if they made a move. A sharp nudge at the base of Claire’s spine told her to hurry up. She didn’t need the urging.

She rose, eyes flickering behind as she saw a dark shadow sweep up behind the divers. Back-up.

But not for them.

Claire saw a glint of silver, the reflection of metal caught in the headlamps of their assailants. She turned as the diver who had been so close behind her grasped at his mask, the hose connected to his air tanks sinking slowly to the floor. Through his mask, Claire could see his abrupt intake of breath drew in a large amount of river water. The speargun drifted to the riverbed, out of sight, as he scrambled for the surface.

The second diver noticed the disturbance just a second too late. He arched his back violently, agony etched in every line on his face. The thick crimson cloud pooling from his spine was mirrored from the diver’s throat as another glint of silver flashed.

The diver sank to the bottom of the river and finally Claire saw the blue stripe emblazoned across the chest of the shadow.

Eileen.

The first diver writhed around frantically, drowning inside his hood. He tried to claw his way upwards but Eileen was faster. Claire didn’t even see what she did but the diver’s lifeless corpse drifted to the floor, weighed down by his own oxygen tank, with only minimal effort from Eileen.

Claire broke through the surface of the water, her lungs burning and she took in gasp after gasp of precious oxygen. The blackness at the edge of her vision receded as she filled her lungs, feeling lightheaded after her oxygen deprivation. Tearing off her mask, it was a beautiful experience to have the sun shining on her face again and she basked in it.

Sam rose up beside her smoothly, removing his own mask and shaking out his long hair, gasping. He froze, eyes fixated on a spot over Claire’s shoulder. She turned, catching sight of the now-landed helicopter, positioned on the river bank only a few feet from them.

“Maybe they haven’t seen us?” She whispered.

Gunfire erupted, hitting the water behind Sam and swinging towards them.

“Down!” Sam yelled.

 

 **03:19 PM** **  
** **BENEATH LUXOR, EGYPT**

Dean stood frozen, helpless to get himself out of the situation. Any second now, Crowley would release the spear into his chest and kill him where he stood. He stayed perfectly still, preparing for the end, when the spear was pulled back a fraction of an inch.

Crowley gestured to the passageway behind him. Apparently, Dean was to be interrogated first. Then his death would be painful and drawn out because he wouldn’t tell the Court a damn thing. But the reprieve from death was welcome. It gave him time to think of a way to escape. He led the way down the tunnel, conscious of the speargun pointing at his back in case he made a move.

He was starting to despise the sight of the winding, rocky, sandy tunnels as he was nudged along. Every step Dean took, his mind was racing, desperately seeking a way out of this situation. He was pretty sure he would get no help from Castiel. That truce had ended the moment Dean’s satellite phone had been shot from his ear. So, he was on his own.

When the tunnel widened into crossroads, he came to a halt. A few of the divers turned their spearguns on him, alerted by their footsteps. Dean’s head jerked forward as Crowley reached out from behind him and yanked his hood down, displaying his face.

Dean locked eyes with Castiel, who was leaning against one of the craggy walls between two tunnels, showing no care in the world. The only acknowledgement he got was an arched brow and the raise of a single finger from Halo.

 _Hello, Dean_.

Dean scowled as Crowley walked around him, getting a good look at him. The favour was returned, as Dean was able to properly study the man that had been such a thorn in his side for the last few days for the first time. He didn’t look like much but his stature belied his power. Dean still remembered how Crowley had lifted Claire clean off the floor.

He schooled his expression to one of polite boredom as Crowley stepped in close, trying to intimidate him.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to be useful and tell me everything you discovered down here.”

Dean resisted the urge to snort, but instead gave Crowley a look of mock astonishment. “Is that so? Why would I do that?”

Crowley tilted a head over his shoulder towards Castiel. “Because someone here knows you very, very well, Dean. Knows everything about you, almost. You’ve resigned yourself to death, I can see that in your face. But what about your brother? Your parents. People you care about. Who’ll be there to look out for them when you’re dead?”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he almost lunged for Crowley, held back only by the spears at his side. He’d be cut down before he even landed a blow.

“What do you want to know?” He ground out, through gritted teeth. Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel did know that kind of information about him, if he’d truly be able to track down Bobby and Ellen, but he wasn’t going to chance it. They didn’t deserve to pay for his mistakes.

“All of it. But first things first. Which tunnel do we choose from here?”

Dean lifted his hand and pointed to the tunnel he’d almost chosen earlier, before figuring out the riddle.

“That one. The riddle helped us figure out the end destination, so we used a compass to determine which tunnel would take us there.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded. “Check it out.” He waved four of the divers ahead, hanging back himself with one other diver as his back-up.

Dean was disappointed that Crowley also hadn’t taken the bait but knew he was too smart for that. He’d send others to be his cannon fodder first. Crowley considered himself too important to risk being killed, not when he could send others to die in his place.

The four men directed towards the tunnels obeyed without hesitation. Castiel, who was still casually leaning against the wall, watched group disappear. He hesitated for only a moment, before seemingly deciding to follow.

“Not you,” Crowley snapped.

Castiel didn’t even spare him a glance. “Do you still require use of Men of Letters property?” He asked, pointedly. “I can take the boat and leave you here.”

Crowley’s face flushed in anger and humiliation but kept silent.

Trouble in paradise… interesting. Dean wondered what had soured the relationship between the two men.

He faced the tunnel again. They were about to find out if this place was actually cursed, as marked by the sigil at the entrance. If the tunnels _were_ indeed boobytrapped.

Dean watched with bated breath, wondering exactly what would happen.

 

 **03:19 PM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

Sam swam down, out of sight of the helicopter and hopefully out of the range of its guns. But they still weren’t in the clear. They still hadn’t managed to recover their oxygen tanks. Sam doubted now that they’d find them at all, the Demon Court had obviously moved them.

A movement out of the corner of his eye drew Sam’s attention and he lashed out with his fist. A diver had crept up behind him, attached to an jet sled. At the blow, the diver separated from his vehicle, and Sam grabbed on instead.

Perfect. Just what he needed.

He took off immediately, skidding up through the water towards Claire, who hadn’t made it down as far as he had. He paused just long enough for her to grab onto him in a piggyback before he took off, racing away from the bullets that were littering the water, drawing closer to them.

As he reached the surface, he recognised the chaos the Demon Court had left waiting for them. Everyone had fled the area, the presence of an armed helicopter the final straw. Sam didn’t stick around to examine the harbour, just took off at top speed as more bullets were peppered in his direction.

There would be no escape like this. Between the large hydrofoil boat swinging after them and the helicopter that could take off at any moment, Sam knew they were never make it to safe ground. They just had to get a decent head start so they could find somewhere to hide.

“Hold on!” He yelled, weaving in between two fleeing boats. He mistimed his swerve and jerked the sled a little too violently, sending it careening into the starboard side of the tourist boat. The sled flipped and Sam tightened his grip on the handles, the only thing stopping him from spinning off and landing unceremoniously in the water. He scraped along the side of the metal, wincing at the horrible grating sound it caused, and straightened once he’d made it past the boat.

But he’d lost his passenger.

Claire was gone, knocked aside by the impact.

 

 **03:19 PM** **  
** **BENEATH LUXOR, EGYPT**

Dean watched eagerly, trying not to show the anticipation on his face as the men passed more than halfway down the visible part of the tunnel. Any moment now, he was sure of it.

“It’s safe!” A voice called back from the front.

Crowley stepped forward shoving Dean ahead of him, eager to continue his journey now that Dean had been proven truthful. Dean bit his lip. He couldn’t resist too much or he’d give away his lie. But if he didn’t resist at all, he’d be trapped in there with the rest of the Court.

There was a loud _crack_ and everyone froze. It was too loud, not just the snap of a twig. Something had been triggered.

Castiel seemed to recognise that too. At the back of the line, he had the easiest route back through the tunnel. He spun and leapt back towards Dean and Crowley. The floor began to collapse beneath his feet and the divers followed his lead, all desperately tried to make it back.

They weren’t going to make it. The sand and rocks underfoot crumbled and fell away into a deep crevasse, and as Dean backed up, he craned his neck to see what was happening. Below, deep in the cavern, he could just about make out sharp, pointed spikes of rock pointed directly upwards. He winced, averting his eyes, but it did nothing to block out the crack of broken bone and the horrible gurgle of punctured lungs as the fleeing soldiers ran out of path and fell to their death.

Castiel made it about ten feet from the exit before rocks beneath him crumbled away. He leapt for the threshold, grasping onto the edge of the rocky cliff with one hand and dangling over the sheer drop. He might have been able to pull himself up, but for the last soldier. In freefall, the diver refused to give into the inevitable and grabbed onto Castiel’s free hand. When the soldier’s descent was abruptly halted by his grip on the Men of Letters agent, Dean heard the cry of pain from Castiel as the sharp tug dislocated his shoulder. For a moment, it looked like Halo was about to lose his grip, but his hand grasped the rock with renewed fervour and he lashed out with his foot, leaving the soldier to join his comrades at the bottom of the pit.

“Crowley,” Castiel wheezed. “Pull me up.”

Dean leaned over, seeing the look of panic and pain on Castiel’s face as he hung from the ledge. Castiel’s foot had found the single fragment of rock that hadn’t collapsed into the abyss below. It wobbled unsteadily. He wouldn’t be able to stay there for long. He was only about six feet below the entrance, but with his newly dislocated shoulder, he wasn’t able to pull himself up.

Dean moved swiftly. Crowley would be distracted by helping Castiel to his feet so this was his chance at escape. He dove past his captor, rolling back into the tunnel. He felt exhilarated, satisfaction thrumming though his body. He was free -

Something clubbed Dean in the back of the head and he dropped to his knees with a groan. “Son of a -” he gasped out, his words cut off as Crowley’s hand wrapped around his throat, hauling him to his feet and squeezing.

“A nasty little trick,” Crowley hissed. “But you’ve done me a favour, taking care of Castiel for me. Now he’s out of the picture, I have plans for you.”

 

 **03:20 PM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

Claire hadn’t been expecting the impact. It had caused her somersault backwards, away from the jet sled. She knocked her head on the side of the boat and plunged back into the water, completely dazed. She didn’t even get to take a full breath before she was fully submerged, inhaling water and beginning to choke.

She thrashed upwards, clawing her way back to the open air. Water poured from her mouth and nose and she coughed and spluttered, reflexively. She couldn’t stop if she tried.

“ _Gaat het wel_?” A voice called out to her.

Claire, still coughing up water, managed to glance up to see the boat the sled hit had stopped, and a kind-looking man was holding out a hand towards her. She took it and used it to guide herself up onto the boat.

“I’m sorry,” she coughed, recognising the language but not the words. “I don’t speak Dutch.”

She collapsed into a heap at the side of the boat, coughing up the last of the water in her lungs over the side. Where was Sam? Why hadn’t he come back for her?

She turned to watch the helicopter take off once again, but it was heading away from her. The hydrofoil ship was swinging upriver, leaving them behind. Why? Then Claire saw the Egyptian police cruisers and everything became clear. She bit her lip, wondering if Jack and Dean would manage to get clear before the police searched the area. Their appearance from the water wouldn’t go unnoticed. But this was good news. The appearance of the authorities was scaring away the Court. And Dean had the clue.

She turned to thank her captor, hoping her gratitude would translate, only to freeze when she saw the snub-nosed automatic rifle.

“ _Handen omhoog!”_

She didn’t need to speak Dutch to know what he was saying. Pointing a gun at someone was universally understood and thus required no translation.

 _Hands up_.

 

 **03:20 PM** **  
** **THE NILE, EGYPT**

Sam looped around in a wide circle as he turned back to look for Claire. The police cruisers had forced him to take caution and so he’d cut the motor and ducked out of sight under the water until they were truly past him.

The Demon Court's boat was too far upriver now and moving quickly. The police would never catch up, even with their sirens blaring. Still, Sam was worried. Claire was gone, Eileen had gone missing again and Dean and Jack should have been out of the tunnels by now. They were running out of time to escape.

He sped forward in a second arc, this time circling the boat he'd clipped earlier. On board, he saw the back of Claire's head, her blonde hair dripping down her back and the lilac stripe that began on her shoulder the only visible part of her from the water.

Sam recognised the man with her from his earlier position keeping watch. A simple tourist, not a threat.

“Claire, is everything okay?”

She didn't speak or turn around but she didn’t really have time to react at all. The man beside Claire shoved her to the ground and pointed an automatic rifle at Sam. With his other hand, he crooked two fingers, gesturing for Sam to leave the jet sled and board.

Sam sighed. Maybe more than a mere tourist, then. “Guess not.”

 

 **03:21 PM** **  
** **BENEATH LUXOR, EGYPT**

Dean couldn’t breathe, Crowley was cutting off his air. But he forced himself not to struggle, even though his arms and legs twitched with the urge to thrash, self-preservation kicking in. Crowley wouldn’t kill him, not yet. He still had information to share, so he was still valuable. If Crowley killed him without getting the information, the Court would never be able to obtain the next clue.

But now Crowley had lost his leverage. With Castiel left to die, the knowledge of Dean’s background would die with him and Crowley would never get to his family. That thought burned within Dean and he knew that even though he probably wouldn’t make it out of here alive, he’d die knowing he’d stopped the Court from completing their goal.

The others would just have to carry on without him. They knew their destination and Jack had the blood. They could complete this on their own.

He blinked as Crowley’s free hand lifted his speargun, pointing it towards Dean’s eye. Crowley seemed to have come to the same realisation and was preparing to end his life.

“Enough games. Talk. Now. What did you find -”

A _zing_ and a roar of pain stopped Crowley from finishing his sentence. The speargun in his hand clattered to the floor and Dean was released, gasping for air. He didn’t even take the time to catch his breath or take much note of the spear that had pierced through Crowley’s hand, leaving a hole that was vaguely reminiscent of stigmata. The other soldier was already turning his own weapon towards him, so Dean dropped and rolled into one of the tunnels, feeling the spear whisper past his ear. A split second and it would have gone through the back of his head.

Dean jumped to his feet, just in time to see another flash of silver, this time coming out of the dark passageway that led to the entrance. A horrible gurgling sound implied the spear had found its target. Dean squinted into the darkness to identify his ally. Jack?

Two figures stepped forward, and Dean was grateful to see both Jack and Eileen, armed with respective spearguns. Their aims had been precise and true, hitting the only target that would have stopped Crowley from firing his weapon - because he would no longer be able to hold it.

Dean didn’t linger, darting from his refuge and snatching up the discarded speargun. It was time to end this. Crowley was back on his feet, heading for the closest tunnel. Dean was dismayed to see it was the right one, one that would lead him to the final set of crossroads on the way to Cain’s tomb.

His jaw clenched, Dean took careful aim at Crowley’s back and fired.

The spear flew down the tunnel, faster than Crowley could run. He wouldn’t reach the first bend in time. Dean watched, holding his breath, as the weapon found its mark. There was a loud reverberating sound of metal hitting metal, and then the shaft clattered uselessly to the floor.

Dean had hit the incendiary grenade strapped to the back of Crowley’s suit. _Son of a bitch._

“We need to go. The police are outside.” Eileen told him.

Dean eyed the tunnel, considering pursuit. Crowley deserved to die for everything he’d done.

Jack chewed his lip. “And Claire? Where is she?”

“She’s with Sam, I saw them take off on a jet sled. They should already be free and clear by now.” Eileen assured him, turning back to Dean. “Commander? We got what we came for. We should leave while we still can.”

Dean forced himself to drag his eyes away from the tunnel, pushing away the thoughts of going after Crowley. Eileen was right. They couldn’t be followed now. The Court had lost and that was going to have to be enough.

“Alright,” he agreed. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

 **03:32 PM** **  
** **VALLEY OF THE KINGS, EGYPT**

Crowley eased the spear out of his hand slowly. The metal scraped against bone and Crowley resisted the urge to scream as pain lanced all the way through his arm. It burned, and he lacked the medical supplies to deal with it here. He’d just have to be quick - but thorough. The pain was significantly distracting, but his duty came first. For now, he simply wrapped it in a scrap of fabric from his pack on the floor, keeping pressure on the wound.

What was this place? He glanced around, noting the hieroglyphs on the wall, and the golden sarcophagus. Crowley approached it, hopefully, but of course it was empty. The Americans had taken everything.

He’d have to evacuate quickly now. The ARTEMIS team could send the Egyptian authorities straight here. Crowley felt an ugly scowl spread across his page. The plan had been for the hydrofoil ship to distract the police long enough for him to look around the tunnel and then he’d escape on the nondescript boat that had been keeping an eye on the ARTEMIS team.

Now, Crowley had limited time.

But he wasn’t ready to give in. He would take pictures of everything he could and pass them onto Ishim, to see what he could uncover. Then Crowley would track down the ARTEMIS team and make them rue the day they ever meddled in something they didn’t understand.

As he dug his camera out of his pack with his only good hand, Crowley nudged the waterproof seal away from the incendiary device.

And saw the display was lit.

His eyes widened and he turned it to get a better look, noticing the big dent in the side, where Commander Winchester had struck it with a speargun. The impact must have shorted something and triggered the fifteen-minute timer.

_00:02:15._

_00:02:14._

Crowley pressed the abort button. Nothing happened. _Bollocks_.

His eyes zeroed in on the sarcophagus. There was a gap in the lid, and he traced the shape with his finger, recognising it instantly

The mark. He inhaled sharply. Cain.

Rage and injustice burned within him. The filthy impure Americans had desecrated and ransacked the final resting place of his ancestor. He whipped out his camera and took pictures of everything he could see, his blood boiling. They would pay for this. They would all die slowly.

He swept out of the tunnel before the timer hit ninety seconds, backtracking as quickly as possible. The resulting detonation rocked the tunnel, the rocks vibrating beneath his feet, but Crowley was already well out of the blast radius. His purpose renewed, Crowley jogged through the passageways, his feet leading him back until he stood above the corpse of his colleague.

“Crowley!”

He started, whirling around, but it was only Castiel. He was still trapped, hanging from the ledge. Crowley had to give him credit, for hanging on. He had written the agent off as dead already. It was impressive that he was still there, still clinging on - to both the rocky ledge and his life.

But he was simply delaying the inevitable.

Crowley approached the precipice. “It was a pleasure working with you,” he called down smoothly. “You’ve been most helpful. But I’m afraid this is where we part ways.”

He didn’t stick around to hear the colourful names that Castiel no doubt yelled after him. Making for the entrance, Crowley considered his options. He had nothing to present to the Court. For all intents and purposes, he had failed. The Imperator was not a forgiving man and Crowley knew he’d find himself on his own altar at Castle MacLeod if he returned, tortured himself, the way he’d tortured so many others.

But if he fled, he would be hunted and the end result would be far worse.

“Crowley? Report.”

His earpiece was crackling with static but he was close enough to the entrance that it now functioned.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” He snapped. It was just his pick-up boat.

“We report two additional passengers aboard.”

Crowley stopped dead. “Who?” He barked. “I authorised no passengers.”

“The Professor and one of the Americans. What should we do with them?”

A slow, malicious smile spread across Crowley’s face. _Well, well, well…_

“Make sure they’re comfortable,” he purred. “When I get back, we’ll all get acquainted. Until then, they’re not to be harmed.”

He had something to present after all.

 

 **04:20 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Dean paced the length of the hotel room, checking his watch for what had to be the millionth time. They had returned to their room at the Hilton. They’d tuned into the news, where it appeared that everything had returned to normal at the Temple. Yachts and boats had returned to the river. Unfortunately, the lack of updates on any arrests made it abundantly clear that the Court had once again evaded capture.

The tomb would have been destroyed by now. Crowley would have searched every inch of it and found nothing, and set the incendiary device anyway, even if out of spite.

Dean, Jack, and Eileen had stripped off their neoprene suits underwater, emerging from the water in wet, but in completely practical swimsuits and trunks. They looked simply like regular tourists. They’d returned to their hotel room, fully expecting to find Sam and Claire waiting for them.

But the room was deserted, and there was no sign of them. No calls, no messages, nothing.

Dean turned to Eileen. “And you saw them make it to the surface?”

Eileen nodded, averting her gaze out of guilt. “But not what happened after that. I should have gone with them and made sure.”

Dean reached out to grasp her shoulder, which made her look up in surprise. “You made a call,” he told her gently. “If you hadn’t come back for me, I’d be dead. Sam can look after himself and he’ll take care of Claire too.” He felt a little comforted by that knowledge. Sam was completely capable of protecting Claire.

“So what’s our next step?” Jack pressed. He was pale, had lost his colour the moment he realised Claire wasn’t in the hotel room, and his hands were unsteady.

“We have to assume they’ve been caught. Both of them know we were supposed to meet back here, so we can’t assume we’re safe here now. We have to evacuate.”

Jack stood up abruptly, anger flaring. “You want to _leave_?”

Of course he didn’t want to. But this was the decision he’d made and while he didn’t like it, it was the best decision he’d reached. He turned to Jack, straightening to his full height. He was prepared to accept the weight of this responsibility on his shoulders.

The command was his. Charlie had placed her faith in him for a reason.

“We have no choice.”

 

 **05:01 PM** **  
** **MEDITERRANEAN SEA**

Claire snatched the floral dress out of the hands of the bikini-clad woman in front of her. Cecily, she’d introduced herself as, and her companion holding a gun at the door was Casey. Claire didn’t care, she wasn’t falling for any good-cop-bad-cop routine. Still, she’d been polite, subdued, all the while her mind was desperately seeking a way to escape.

There was no illusion of privacy, she’d been stripped out of her neoprene suit by Cecily and patted down, despite her bikini showing she had nothing to hide. Her only consolation was that Crowley had shown no interest in taking advantage of her vulnerability and was waiting outside of the door. Claire stepped into the dress, pulling the straps up her shoulders and wrapping her arms around herself. The dress was quite modest and didn’t fit too badly, but the absence of proper underwear was humiliating.

At the nod from Cecily, Casey opened the door and stepped aside. Crowley entered the room, looking as if Christmas had truly come early for him.

Claire and Sam had been ziptied, kept below deck until Crowley had appeared. Thankfully, he hadn’t seem inclined to interrogate them there and then. But he left a guard with them, so there’d been no chance of coming up with any kind of plan. After a period of travelling, they were moved onto the hydrofoil boat from earlier. It felt like a whole day had passed since their capture but in reality it had been barely two hours. She could tell by the position of the sun as they were manhandled onto the larger boat.

She’d been taken to this cabin and Sam had been taken elsewhere. She didn’t know where he was or if he was even still alive and that terrified her.

Crowley stepped forward and grabbed her arm, fingers curling around her bicep. Claire noted the bandage on his other hand and a stab of vicious approval. The others had left their mark.

She was led out into the hallway, dark with spatterings of light from dimmed sconces. The orange glow was barely enough to light the way as she was shoved forward, walking past door after door until she was steered to the very last one.

Crowley leaned past her and knocked.

“ _Come in_.”

Crowley pushed the door open and threw Claire inside unceremoniously. She landed in a heap at the foot of a desk, and bit back a cry of pain as her ankle throbbed. Fighting back tears, because she wouldn’t give Crowley the satisfaction, she picked herself up and looked around the room. This one was bigger than her former room, which had been little more than a cell. It was also grander, furnished with a comfortable bed and an ornate mahogany desk, even a bookshelf filled with leatherbound texts and ancient scrolls.

The room’s occupant rose from his seat behind the desk and stepped forward. “Professor Novak. I am Father Ishim.”

She glared at him, remembering Jack’s tale of how Ishim had shoved a gun into his ribs during the siege of the Vatican.

“I wish to hear all about what happened in the tomb. Crowley was good enough to provide photographs, but they tell me nothing I don’t already know. We know that you already figured out the next step. A firsthand account would be incredibly valuable to our search.”

Claire said nothing, just straightened to her full height and sneered. She wouldn’t help them, no matter what they did to her.

Crowley raised an arm as if to backhand her across the face and she flinched in preparation, but Ishim stopped him.

“There’s no need for that. Messy business, hitting a woman. You have the boy for that,” Ishim smiled, thin-lipped and cruel. “Perhaps she needs a demonstration of what her silence will achieve?”

Crowley grinned and renewed his grasp on Claire’s arms as he guided her back out of the cabin door. Ishim followed, as Claire was guided up a metal staircase. She kept her thighs tightly clenched together as she climbed, conscious of her position. Her cheeks burned at being in this situation, but she would stay strong. They were taking her to Sam, at least.

She stepped out onto the silver and white deck, feeling the warmth of the low sun on her face. It did nothing to dispel the cold dread in her stomach. Six guards lined both sides of the deck, each armed with machine guns that Claire couldn’t identify. One wrong step and she’d end up with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese.

She stepped around the wall that separated the stairwell from the deck and spotted Sam lying on the floor. He’d obviously been beaten within an inch of his life, his body littered with bruises and smears of blood. His hands were bound together, as were his feet, and he was naked but for the swim trunks he’d been wearing underneath his diving suit. Claire noticed the unnatural angle of the fingers on Sam’s left hand and willed him to react, to let her know he was okay.

But his eyes were closed.

Claire let out a sob and darted forward, not even sure what her intention was but she wanted to let him know she was there. She screamed as Crowley viciously caught her by her hair, yanking her back to the floor at his feet.

At the sound, Sam cracked a swollen eye open. “Leave her alone,” he rasped.

Crowley ignored him. “Untie his hands,” he barked at the three guards closest to him. Hold his arms out. One of you sit on his chest. Keep him still.”

A scrap of metal on metal caught Claire’s attention, and she looked up to see Crowley now wielding a fire axe, yanked from a stanchion on the wall.

“Ishim asked you a question,” he told her.

Claire gaped. Surely he wouldn’t?

“I’ll start with the broken fingers,” Crowley promised, swinging the axe up and stalking over to Sam. “They’re not much use anyway at the moment.”

“No!”

“Then talk!” He bellowed.

Sam looked at her, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

But Claire couldn’t bear to see him lose a finger. She started to tell them about opening the sarcophagus, the mark made of golden glass that had made some of the hieroglyphics burst with colour. Talking quickly, Claire told them about the translation suggesting they needed to go to Mount Ararat as their next destination. She told them everything, except the whole truth.

Ishim listened, his eyes gleaming, occasionally interrupting to ask a question. But for the most part he stayed silent, cataloguing the information.

“That’s all we know.”

Ishim nodded slowly, licking his lips. “She’s lying.” He raised his voice so Crowley could hear him.

“Yes, I thought so.”

Crowley swung the axe down.

 

 **05:15 PM** **  
** **MEDITERRANEAN SEA**

Crowley relished Claire’s ear-splitting scream.

He pulled his axe from where he’d embedded it in the deck, less than an inch from Sam’s fingertips. That had been a warning and the only one she would get. He heaved the axe back up to his shoulder and turned to Claire. She was pale now, sweat beading on her forehead. She was mere minutes away from going into shock.

“I won’t miss again,” he warned her.

“There was a circle in the bottom of the sarcophagus, untouched by dust. I can see it in the photographs as clear as day,” Ishim told her, coldly. “Something was there. And a lie of omission is still a lie.”

Claire sobbed.

Crowley watched Ishim soften. Not out of genuine care for her. Ishim was too much of a sociopath for that, too scornful of the opposite sex to be moved by a woman’s tears. No, he was simply trying to relax her so they could continue to prise information from her.

“There’s no need for your friend to come to any more harm. On the contrary, we may need to negotiate with Commander Winchester for his brother’s release.  For both of you to be returned. But we will do whatever is necessary.”

Tears rolled down Claire’s cheeks. Crowley watched her, feeling no pity at all. The bitch had caused him nothing but trouble, had kicked him in the bollocks and then broken his nose. She had defied him at every turn. The only regret Crowley had was her purity of blood. He would not be permitted to spill pure blood.

Still, he had been permitted to interrogate her. He’d hoped to beat her senseless but the Captain of the vessel had threatened to strand them at sea if Crowley laid hands on her. He was already angered by Castiel’s death and to push him on this would have caused no end of trouble with the Men of Letters. Crowley had no plans to anger such a powerful ally.

“What was taken?” Ishim pressed.

“An urn,” Claire whispered. “An urn, filled with Cain’s blood. Dean… Commander Winchester has it.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. Behind Claire’s tears, he could hear the hope in her voice, the undying faith she had in Commander Winchester and in the rest of the team. It angered Crowley to no end but outwardly he stayed calm. Hope was powerful, but he knew how to quash it.

In a smooth stroke, with all his power behind it, Crowley swung the axe down and severed Sam’s hand at the wrist.

 

 **05:24 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

“We really have to go,” Dean told Jack gently.

He’d given them an extra hour to call around hospitals and police stations, seeing how upset Jack was that his sister was missing. He understood, seeing as how Sam was also gone, but he also recognised that the circumstances were different. Claire had never been trained on how to withstand torture and interrogation, and that was almost certainly the situation she’d found herself in.

Dean rose, just as the sound of his new cell phone started ringing in the pack. The only people that had this number were his teammates and Director Bradbury.

Jack whipped around, shoulders slumping out of sheer relief. “Thank God.”

Dean flicked up the antenna. “Commander Winchester.”

“ _Good evening, Commander. It appears we’re overdue a conversation_.”

Dean froze. Crowley. Then the very fact that he had this number meant that Claire or Sam had told him so. _Crap._

“We are?”

“ _Of course. You have something I want, something belonging to my ancestor. I have something you want. Two things, rather._

Dean took a deep breath, turning his back on Jack and Eileen. He knew Eileen wouldn’t be able to hear him that way, but he couldn’t look either of them in the eye as he spoke.

“How do I know they’re still alive?”

There was silence, and then Dean heard the sound of shuffling. Movement. Then Claire spoke and Dean could hear the tears in her voice.

“ _Dean, I’m so… you… they cut off Sam’s hand. He -_ ”

Her voice faded away as Crowley retook the phone but Dean didn’t hear his next words. He sank to his knees, confused. They had cut off Sam’s hand? No, that… that wasn’t possible. Sam had two hands. Not one. A fog descended over Dean and he couldn’t push through it. This was his fault. He should have stayed on the boat - the forensics aspect of this investigation was Sam’s area of expertise, he should have been in the tunnel. Then he would have gotten away, and it would be Dean missing a hand. Instead, he’d waited on the boat while Dean brought nothing to the table. They could have managed without him, and it would have saved his brother’s hand.

He should have gone after Sam the moment it was clear he and Claire hadn’t made it back to the hotel. Dean had failed, truly fell short in his job as a leader, and even worse he’d failed as a brother. Sam had been maimed because of him.

“ _Commander? Are you listening?_ ”

“Yes,” Dean replied automatically but he wasn’t really, “I’m listening. What do you want?”

“ _The urn and its contents. I propose a trade. There’s a flight departing Luxor at 2200 hours for London. Be on it. You’ll find false papers and a passport waiting for you in locker 528. You will not contact your superiors, either in Washington or Rome. If you do, I’ll know and the price of your insubordination will be the death of your teammates_.”

“What’s my guarantee that you’ll keep your end of the bargain?” Dean replied, his voice steady despite the cold that spreading through him, making his fingers tremble.

“ _When you land in London, I’ll provide more instructions. If you make it there without any double-cross, your brother will be sent to a hospital. The Professor stays with me until you deliver the urn_.”

Dean had no choice. Sam’s life hung in the balance, he knew about amputations from military experience. He could go into shock, bleed out, sepsis could set in, he could die just from a simple infection. Sam’s life was in danger, so Dean would do everything in his power to save it. He’d work out a plan for the rest later. If he could push Claire’s words out of his head. _They’d cut off Sam’s hand_.

“Fine.”

“ _And the other two teammates, the woman and the Vatican lapdog. If they step foot in either Turkey or Britain, the deal is off._ ”

Just like that, Dean snapped out of his haze. Turkey? Mount Qasioun was in Syria. Claire had lied, not told the Court about the true location. Dean knew instantly she’d talked, in order to save Sam’s life, but had held something back at great risk. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Until that very moment, he would never have thought that he would accept an academic in the field as part of his team. But Claire had consistently proven herself again and again, showing that she truly belonged and now she’d proven her place was truly with them while under the worst kind of duress.

Dean didn’t doubt that anymore.

“Understood.”

The line went dead, and Dean turned to his teammates, repeating the full conversation. Jack sank into his chair, his face in his hands when he heard about Sam and Eileen turned away, angrily swiping at her eyes. The news stung both of them and Dean was grateful to know how much impact Sam had had on them. For them to care for him and connect with him, for them to mourn for his hand.

“I’m going to be on that flight.”

Eileen shook her head, stepping forward boldly. Dean had never seen her like this, something had changed in her face and she touched his shoulder with no thought of personal space, only of offering comfort to her Commander. “You’ll be walking straight into a trap. You know that.”

“I do,” Dean admitted, wearily, “but I have to save my brother. Claire gave us some leeway by keeping the truth of our next stop secret. I need you both in Syria, finding out what you can.”

“You can’t ask me to leave her,” Jack argued. “If I asked you to let me go instead, would you leave Sam’s fate in my hands?”

Dean looked at Jack, open and honest, and completely raw. “Probably not,” he admitted, “but you don’t have a choice. You can take it as my order, or as theirs. But, if you come with me, you might as well kill her yourself. You have my word, I’ll bring her back with me.”

Jack relented but Dean knew it was only because he didn’t have another choice.

“What’s your next move, Commander? Do you have a plan?” Eileen asked.

Dean shook his head but not as an answer to her question. “The less we know about each other’s movements from here, the better. I’ll be in touch. Just don’t waste the little time we have left.”

He gathered up his pack and swept out of the door. The Court thought they had covered every angle, every friend Dean had in the world.

But he didn’t need a friend, he needed an ally. And he knew just where to find one.

 

 **05:52 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

Castiel stood in complete darkness, feeling his strength slowly desert him. His wounded shoulder throbbed, leaving him unable to lift his arm at all. His good shoulder hurt almost as much, aching and numb from its position above his head. But the edge of rock he was standing on was no wider than his foot and unsteady on top of that. If he dropped his arm, it would be the only thing keeping him upright.

He wouldn’t last much longer now. Maybe ten minutes, at the very most. He’d tried to pull himself up one handed but had almost lost his balance. He was reluctant to try again. If it meant dying up here or dying down there, he’d choose the higher position. Castiel had heard the soldiers dying down below, and had no intention of going out that way. He still had his diving knife in his belt and when the time came, he would end his suffering on his terms.

His hand trembled, his teeth chattering. Cold had set in now, the warmth had seeped out of him hours earlier. Sweat pooled down his forehead, his neck, despite the cold. His fingers ached, rubbed raw by the rocks he was clinging on to.

A faint glow from the tunnel ahead caught his eyes. He was half-convinced he was imagining it. Then he heard the sound of sand being scraped aside by footsteps. Someone was coming.

Castiel grasped the hilt of his knife in his belt tightly, both scared and yet unable to quash his hope of rescue.

A silhouette appeared, shining a bright flashlight down on him. Castiel flinched, blinded by the beam. He turned his head desperately, averting his eyes from the searing light. His knees trembled, the very last of his strength waning.

The shadow lowered his flashlight, and pulled his hood back as he knelt down. Castiel squinted. Commander Dean Winchester.

Dean’s hand reached out towards Castiel’s, where it was clamped against the rock. Not as a threat, but to pull him up.

He met Castiel’s gaze unflinchingly. “Let’s talk.”


	14. Chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content.

**APRIL 25TH, 06:41 PM** **  
** **LUXOR, EGYPT**

“I’m in.”

Dean pursed his lips and straightened up from his holdall, holding a roll of gauze. “Just like that?”

Castiel shrugged with one shoulder. The other still had an ice pack applied to it, taking down the swelling from where Dean had reset it. He’d showered and changed since then, and refused the offer of painkillers but was obviously still in pain. “It suits my needs. We both have a common goal. I’m in.”

That was all the answer Dean was likely to get from Castiel, so he accepted it. He still didn’t trust him an inch but he couldn’t deny that they did have a common goal - to see Crowley dead. It suited both of them to team up and Dean had already outlined his plan. Thankfully, Castiel had agreed.

“We’ve got about an hour before we need to head to the airport. I don’t care what you do in the meantime but you should probably get some clothes.” He tossed some cash towards Castiel.

Castiel looked down at himself, shirtless and wearing a borrowed pair of sweatpants from Dean. “You’re probably right,” he nodded. “I’ll go now.”

Still, he didn’t move.

Dean raised an eyebrow, pausing in his ministrations of wrapping up the recent, deep cut on his arm. “Was there something else?”

“What happened there?” Castiel evaded the question, nodding towards his arm.

“I cut myself on the rocks when I came back for you,” Dean replied impatiently. “What is it?”

Castiel pursed his lips, looking for all the word like he’d rather swallow razor blades than speak but he forced himself to. “It wasn’t personal. Pine Bluff, I mean. Orders are orders. But when Crowley threatened your family back there… you talked.”

Dean waited until he’d taped the gauze down before responding. He stood in front of the door of their hotel room, folding his arms to try and repress his anger. Castiel was seriously going to question that? That Dean would do anything to protect his family?

“Of course I did! They shouldn’t pay for my choices.”

Castiel lowered his gaze to the floor, tension radiating from his shoulders. “Yes,” he ground out. “I agree. Which is why I would never have told Crowley anything about them. There are few things I consider sacred and fewer orders I would disobey. This is one of them.”

When he was so clearly reluctant to share the information, Dean couldn’t doubt the honesty. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, still suspecting there was a trap. Then his brow cleared as he realised this moment of straightforwardness was Castiel’s way of thanking him for saving his life.

“I appreciate that,” he replied calmly, “but if you think I don’t still suspect you’re going to betray me as soon as you get the chance, you’re crazy.”

A small smile flashed across Castiel’s face and he lifted his eyes to meet Dean’s, amused. “And if you think I don’t still suspect you’ll take the first opportunity you get to kill me, you’re insane.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth tugged up against his will. “Just as long as we understand each other. How’s the shoulder?”

“Stiff.” Castiel gave another half-shrug. “I need to keep it moving if I’m going to be any use to you at all. Which is good because I feel so restless. We should have sex,” he added thoughtfully.

Dean’s jaw almost hit the floor. “You can’t be serious.”

Castiel walked calmly across the room. “I’m serious. You clearly have some issues you need to work through. I almost died and I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing right now. You’re hot and I’m attracted to you. And you’re right here, so unless you don’t swing that way...”

“No, I do,” Dean replied automatically and then his brain caught up to his mouth, finding himself mirroring Castiel’s movements, stepping forward and leaning in. He stilled. “What the - fuck no! You tried to kill me! I am not having sex with you, asshole. The only thing I want to stick in you is a knife. Besides, who says _I’m_ attracted to _you_?”

Yet he was considering it. It would help him to focus, to work out his emotions in a quick fumble. It would also help to dispel the chemistry that had been crackling in the room since he’d stripped Castiel out of his diving suit. If they got it out of their system, he’d surely go back to remembering that this alliance was temporary and temperamental at best.

Castiel’s lips hovered only an inch away, his breath fanning over Dean in soft pants as he laughed. His eyes were glinting, almost daring Dean to close the gap between them. “You are.”

Dean didn’t deny the words, but also couldn’t make himself lean in. So Castiel did it for him, leaning in and brushing their lips together lightly.

Exhaling, Dean surrendered.

He wasn’t gentle. Castiel wasn’t his lover, to be cajoled, seduced. The burning hatred he’d felt for Castiel, the intensity that had raged between them like an inferno from the moment Castiel first pointed a gun at him, that’s what was fuelling this moment. Dean had tried to repress the sparking chemistry between them - but right now, he didn’t want to.

His mouth sealed over Castiel’s in a bruising kiss, slamming him into the door, the thud of the impact echoing around the tiny hotel room. Either in surprise or anticipation, Castiel’s lips parted and Dean wasted no time plundering his way into Halo’s mouth. He pressed up against him, bodies slotted together as if the prospect of space between them was incomprehensible as his hands came up to press against the wall on each side of Castiel’s head.

Castiel broke away from the kiss and Dean froze, confused and uncertain. The reality of what they were doing and who he was doing it with set in and it was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, the blaze of arousal dimming to be replaced by white-hot anger. He took a half-step back, about to put a stop to Castiel’s toying with him.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Castiel panted, placing rough, open-mouthed kisses along Dean’s jawline, up to his ear, where he bit harshly at the fleshy lobe. Dean choked back a sound that he wasn’t sure was from the pain or the pleasure but he felt a shiver of _something_ shoot straight to his crotch.

Castiel had already moved onto sucking at his pulse point, no doubt leaving a mark there. The idea that Castiel would dare to mark him like property made Dean seethe and he moved his hands to Castiel’s hair, tangling his fingers in the strands and yanking hard. His mouth found Castiel’s newly exposed throat and Dean licked a rough stripe up the bared skin, eliciting a low moan that made Dean’s eyes flutter closed.

He found Castiel’s mouth again and forced his tongue inside, keeping an almost painful grip on Castiel’s hair. It seemed like Castiel wasn’t about to object as Dean could feel something long and thick pressing against his thigh. Castiel was already hard and Dean could feel the familiar burn of his own arousal.

He pushed his knee between Castiel’s, rubbing his length against the firm muscles of Halo’s thigh. The action forced their lips apart and Castiel pressed his forehead to Dean’s. Smoky blue eyes met smouldering green ones as they both pushed their hips forward into the other. One of Castiel’s arms snaked around Dean’s waist, keeping them flush together.

It also gave him the leverage to flip them around, rolling them on the wall so Dean was now pressed to the wall. Castiel laughed breathlessly and Dean repressed the instinctive bolt of panic when he recognised it for what it was - playful. He sank his teeth into Castiel’s lower lip to wipe the smirk from his face, swiping his tongue over it afterwards. The subsequent jerk of Castiel’s hips made them both exhale sharply, Dean’s cock twitching in his pants.

He pushed on Castiel’s hipbone, clumsily reversing their positions once again, pressing Castiel to the wall at the foot of the bed. Dean’s hands slid down to Castiel’s wrists, encircling them like makeshift shackles, and pinning them back against the wall, unaffected by the hiss of pain from the jolt to Castiel’s shoulder.

“Stay still,” he ordered.

Castiel fixed him with a dark gaze, eyes lidded with arousal. It was with an almost lazy expression that he seemed to obey, and yet he couldn’t hide his wariness. Dean understood. The last time they’d been alone like this, they’d been trying to kill each other. But this was an entirely different way to release the pent-up anger and energy between them. So, he slid his hand over Castiel’s tanned chest, over the muscles on his stomach, and to the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants.

Dean lingered there for a moment, watching the spark of heat in Castiel’s eyes. He palmed over the hard bulge, watching as Castiel’s head fell backwards, hitting the wall, an eager sound escaping him.

“Sounds like these need to come off.” Dean purred and he yanked down the sweatpants, helping Castiel step out of them. Castiel was fully naked now, his erection long and flushed, standing proud against his stomach. Dean reached out, wrapping a hand around it and giving a firm stroke. He catalogued the reaction he got from Castiel, the way his hips moved forward, pushing his cock further into Dean’s hand.

Castiel hissed. “Take… your shirt off,” he ground out.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Just his shirt? Well, whatever got the guy going. He let go of Castiel, reaching down to pull his t-shirt over his head. As soon as he did, a hard impact in the centre of chest saw his feet actually lift from the floor. There was a swooping sensation as Dean fell and then he landed on the soft sheets of the bed. By the time he untangled his hands to yank the shirt over his head, Castiel’s hands had already undone Dean’s button and zipper.

His heart still thudding rapidly in his chest, Dean lifted his hips as Castiel yanked off his jeans, crawling on top of him. He propped himself up, leaning back on one elbow and watching as Castiel’s lips dragged against his skin, trailing a path lower and lower. A flick of Castiel’s tongue against his cock had Dean reaching out to grab his hair but Castiel laughed, crawling back on top of him and straddling his thighs.

“I was thinking of something a little more mutually beneficial,” he purred, slotting their lengths together and rutting his hips down.

Dean threw his head back in a garbled moan, slipping back onto the bed as he moved his hands into a much better position - sliding down Castiel’s smooth back, all the way down to his ass. Dean held him in place as he smoothly rolled his hips up, panting at the friction.

His grip tightened on Castiel and he rolled them over, feeling his stomach clench as they crashed onto the floor, but Dean was on top now and he planned to stay there. Castiel’s eyes were dark blue with arousal and surprise, but from the way he was grinding upwards, he had taken to the new position just as much as the old.

Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel’s, eyes fluttering closed as he snaked a hand between them, wrapping it around both of their lengths and stroking. The sound that left Castiel was so guttural and Dean felt his cock twitch in his hand. He didn’t know if Castiel was enjoying himself as much as he was making himself out to but Dean didn’t entirely care. If this was another manipulation, then Dean didn’t consider himself losing anything by enjoying it.

Castiel’s ankles hooked around his thighs, keeping him in place. A hand found his hair and yanked firmly, causing his eyes to fly open as he gasped in pain-tinged pleasure.

“Open your eyes, Dean.” Castiel’s chest heaved with exertion. “Look at me. I want to see when you come.”

He cracked open his eyes, unable to help himself from obeying. He could feel heat curling in his stomach all the way down to his toes. This was quick, even for him, but from the way Castiel’s body was trembling beneath his, he wasn’t the only one close.

All other thoughts slipped from his mind, replaced by nothing but intensity. His world revolved around that particular moment. He kept his eyes open, fixed on Castiel’s, giving himself over. His hand kept moving, stroking them both, his back arching as he could feel the familiar tightening sensation.

He didn’t warn Castiel. He didn’t need to.

“Come,” Castiel breathed, and Dean did. His body went taut and then relaxed as hot white ropes of come covered his fist and Castiel’s stomach. Sparks exploded behind his eyes and the tension in his stomach unwound. He wasn’t sure what was on his face as he came but it seemed to trigger Castiel’s own release quickly thereafter. Dean’s strokes slowed to a stop and he couldn’t help the goofy, sated grin that spread across his face.

He pressed an exhausted kiss to Castiel’s lips one last time, sucking on his lower lip briefly before he pulled away, collapsing on the floor next to him. Oh man, he was getting too old for floor sex. He was aching in muscles he didn’t even know he had and he put his body through the ringer for a living.

He knew he’d never forget this. It was a memory that would forever be tinged with blue eyes and Castiel’s musky scent. Dean’s whole body thrummed with energy he’d almost forgotten he possessed. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly relaxed.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Castiel spoke up, breathlessly.

Dean laughed, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His body buzzed with satisfaction, thoroughly sated from the orgasm. He wiped his sticky hand on the bed sheets next to him. They wouldn’t be using the bed anyway, they needed to be ready for their flight. “I know, I know,” he waved dismissively. “You’re still going to betray me when this is all over.”

“And you’re still going to try and kill me.”

“But first we take out Crowley.” Dean held his unsoiled hand out and beside him, Castiel took it in a firm shake of agreement.

Dean tried not to notice the spark of chemistry that still lingered between them as their fingers touched but didn’t quite manage it.

 

 **01:02 PM** ****  
**WASHINGTON D.C.** ****  
**  
** Charlie began to doubt that she’d ever be able to leave the office until this was all complete. Every time she suspected she might get some downtime, Commander Winchester did something unexpected - either dropping off the grid or calling in for help and arrangements - that she needed to handle personally.

She’d heard news from the Luxor authorities of an attack and subsequent explosion. She already had her back up team, led by Benny Lafitte, heading into Luxor to see what they could find out. There had been no word from Dean or the others since they departed Rome on the private jet Charlie had managed to charter.

Charlie considered, yet again, if it had been a good idea to keep her suspicions to herself regarding the leak. But, she reminded herself, they had been nothing more than suspicious. She had no proof and a wrong step or sudden lack of trust could tip off the conspirator and place the ARTEMIS team in more danger. The decision she’d made to gather more information first had been the right call but now Commander Winchester’s communication blackout meant that the opportunity to disclose her concerns had passed.

“Come in, Kevin,” she waved at her second-in-command as he appeared in the doorway. “Any news?”

“The jet took off from Luxor International approximately fifty minutes ago, bound for Damascus.”

“And they’re still maintaining radio silence?” Charlie sighed, already knowing the answer to that. She would have heard from Commander Winchester personally if the team intended to reach out.

Kevin nodded. “There’s something else. I managed to get in contact with security at Luxor. Only two people boarded the jet.”

Charlie sat bolt upright, leaning over the desk to get a look at the paper in Kevin’s hand. A copy of the flight manifest, stating there were only two passengers on board. Dread slowly flooded through her body. Who was on the flight and where were the others? The most likely answer was that Dean and Sam had set off alone, marking the next part of their mission as too dangerous for the others. But in such an instance, there was no reason for Eileen’s silence.

Something had gone wrong, and Charlie didn’t like it.

“I also have requests from Rome. Cardinal Duma and General Milligan are reaching out for information. What should I tell them?”

Charlie hesitated. This was a delicate balance. ARTEMIS’ continued operations depended on a good relationship with the EU. Opposing both the Vatican and the Carabinieri was not a diplomatic move and could make things very difficult for future missions in Europe. On the other hand, they could find out the destination of the flight on their own, given a little time. Charlie was keeping all her cards close to her chest but this wasn’t something she could conceal.

“Let them know about the flight, but not the number of passengers. We’ll pass on future intel as we receive it.”

Kevin acknowledged her orders, tapping on his tablet.

“I need you to do me a favour, Kevin,” she reached into her desk and pulled out a sealed black envelope. She noticed the second Kevin’s eyes zeroed in on it. A black envelope meant only one thing - top secret. “Once you’ve contacted our allies, I need you to courier this over to DARPA - to Director Shurley personally. Be discreet, tell nobody where you’re going.”

Kevin looked wary but nodded, taking the envelope and tucking it inside his tablet case. “Right away, Director.”

“Director Shurley’s eyes only,” she warned, as he headed for the door.

“You can trust me,” Kevin promised, closing the door behind him.

Charlie turned back to her computer. A long string of alphanumeric characters brought up a map of the word, criss-crossed with multicoloured lines. She traced one with her mouse, and brought up a search function, typing 'Damascus’. Luck was on her side.

She reached for her phone and dialled a single number that would connect her to the security guard at the main exit.

“Let me know when Kevin Tran has left the building.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She hung up. Timing was crucial here. She waited fifteen minutes, tapping at her bobblehead Hermione figure repeatedly.

“Come on,” she muttered.

The phone finally rang and as soon as she confirmed Kevin was gone, Charlie was out of her office, walking briskly along the hall. Access to this particular destination was strictly forbidden to all but the director and second-in-command of ARTEMIS, and even Charlie herself needed dispensation for certain tasks. Unfortunately, the top security office for SatRec - satellite reconnaissance - was only a few doors along from Kevin's office and this was a time for discretion.

She pressed her palmprint to the scanner and yanked open the door. A single technician was inside and he leapt to his feet at the sudden appearance of his boss.

“Director! Is there something I can do for you?”

“I need a tap into NRO's Sigma One.”

The technician blanched. “I don't have that clearance…”

Charlie placed a single piece of paper in front of him with a long alphanumeric sequence. It was valid for the next twenty seven minutes, authorised by Chuck Shurley.

The technician returned to his seat and pulled up the program immediately. “There was no need to come here yourself, Director. Dr. Tran could have patched the feed directly to your computer.”

“Kevin is otherwise engaged and not on site,” Charlie replied, tugging at an errant strand of hair. “I need all record of this trace removed, both internal and external. Nobody outside of this room is to know about this tap.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The technician pointed to a screen. “It’ll come up on this monitor. Do you have the GPS coordinates?”

Charlie gave them, glancing at her watch. Any moment now.

The screen flickered and Damascus International Airport came into view.

“Gate number?”

Charlie repeated the number she'd read on Kevin's copy of the flight manifest, tapping her foot impatiently. They had a very small window of opportunity here. The screen pixellated for just a moment as the satellite zoomed in and refocused. The jet was already there, doors open.

Charlie deflated. She was too late.

Then movement caught her eye. One figure stepped into view, closely followed by another as they exited the plane. Charlie didn't need to zoom in, she recognised them both.

Eileen Leahy and Jack Kline.

She waited for another moment, wondering if the manifest had been doctored, if the others were aboard too, but no other passengers left the jet. Her eyes narrowed and she nodded briefly at the technician to cut the feed.

Charlie thanked him absently and made her way back to her office, lost in thought.

Where were the others?

 

 **APRIL 26TH, 04:15 AM** **  
** **LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM**

Dean fastened his seatbelt and adjusted his seat so he was upright. The plane was in its final descent over London.

The six-and-a-half hour flight from Luxor had passed in a heartbeat. Dean had gotten his four hours and still woke up in time to catch the gourmet meal and watch an interesting movie about dream heists. He’d been surprised to find out they’d spared no expense and booked him a ticket in first class. But then, it made the most sense tactically.

The first class cabin only had about six seats, so Dean had made sure not to draw any attention to himself. He knew that one or more of the other passengers would be planted by the Court to keep an eye on him. There’d obviously been bribes, the Demon Court smoothing his passage - his tickets and false passport gained no scrutiny and he’d managed to get the urn of blood through security.

He supposed that was the only reason he hadn’t been placed in economy. He was still valuable while the urn was still in his possession.

It currently hung around his neck, crudely duct-taped closed so as not to spill any of its precious contents. The urn was bulky, heavy, but Dean hadn’t trusted it in his carry-on luggage, unwilling to risk shattering the fragile pottery. The weight around his neck wasn’t just physical, either. He could feel the intense burden of the lives of his brother and teammate weighing on him. His precious cargo was the only thing that could save both of their lives.

If it had been anyone other than Sam, Dean would have been able to formulate a more coherent plan. But until Sam was safe, Dean couldn’t focus on anything else. _They cut off Sam’s hand._

The swooping feeling in his stomach matched the exact moment their plane touched down and Dean forced himself to concentrate. He still had a couple of tricks up his sleeve, starting with his travelling companion.

Castiel was in economy, disguised from head to toe. Gone were the tailored suits and instead came a maroon hooded sweatshirt that hid his arm sling, faded jeans and scuffed sandshoes. Tinted glasses hid his eyes, and his dark hair was hidden by a blonde wig. He looked completely ridiculous and the disguise wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, but it didn’t have to. He just needed to pass a casual glance because nobody would be looking for him.

As far as the Demon Court was concerned, Castiel was dead to the world.

Which suited Dean just fine.

As they taxied to the gate, he thought back to the moment he’d found Castiel again, trapped and nearing exhaustion. He’d pulled him up after extracting a promise from him. In exchange for his life, and Dean resetting his shoulder, Castiel would hear him out for a plan to both rescue Claire and kill Crowley. If he wasn’t interested, he could walk away, and nothing would change.

But if he was interested and they worked together, then Dean would offer a bonus. Castiel could walk away with all past deeds forgiven. Castiel had listened, mostly in silence, as if shock and exhaustion had set in and he couldn’t even form words. But his strength had returned quickly, along with a dose of cunning and heat. Castiel had ultimately agreed but had slyly pointed out that he knew Dean wouldn’t be so quick to honour that forgiveness, and that there would still be a reckoning for the events at Pine Bluff. The same way Dean knew Castiel would stab him in the back at the first opportunity once the job was done.

Then there was the sex. In hindsight, Dean wasn’t sure that had been the best call he could have made. He didn’t regret it - they were both consenting adults and it was just sex - but they’d both seen a vulnerable side of each other now. It was difficult to come back from that.

Dean grabbed his bag from the overhead locker and exited the plane. He didn’t glance behind him at any point through the security checkpoint to see if Castiel was following. He just had to have faith that Castiel would be able to find him once they were both through.

Heathrow was large and imposing but Dean had seen far larger. He passed through security with the same ease as he had when entering Luxor. His bag remained unchecked and he was waved through despite the weaponry concealed on his person. He stalked ahead, leaving the arrivals section to finally pass into the public area of the airport.

People around him ran to their families, lovers, children. Dean walked alone, paying no heed to the many tearful reunions. He felt no longing to be part of something as normal as a domestic family, except for a hollow feeling in his chest that betrayed just how he really felt about his solitary lifestyle.

Dean came to a halt, waiting patiently for instructions. This was where he and Castiel had bordered into unknown territory. They could only speculate what Crowley’s instructions would be from here. He caught a hint of a maroon hoodie disappearing into a crowd and Dean relaxed marginally. Castiel had made it.

His phone began to ring, and Dean reached for it anxiously. “Commander Winchester.”

“ _Two minutes._ ” Crowley’s silky voice warned him and then there was silence, followed by an abrupt click. The next voice was equally familiar but far more welcome.

“ _Dean_?”

Dean felt his strength wane, his hands shaking as relief flooded through him. _Sam_.

“I’m here, Sammy. Where are you?”

“ _They dumped me at a hospital with nothing but this cell phone. I think I’m in London, judging by the accents._ ”

Dean swallowed thickly. Sam was so close but he knew he wouldn’t get to see him with his own eyes. “Yeah, you’re in London somewhere. How are you doing?”

Sam didn’t reply.

“I know about your hand,” Dean told him. “They let me speak to Claire.”

“ _She’s unharmed_ ,” Sam replied instantly, avoiding any mention of what had happened to his hand. “ _They didn’t hurt her, they just needed to get her to talk and they used me for that. But Dean, they let me go_.”

“I know.” Dean knew Sam couldn’t say too much because Crowley was almost certainly listening in, but he’d managed to make his point. “You need to call the Director when you can. She’ll get you back Stateside where you can get the best care.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “ _Dean…_ ” He seemed to change his mind. “ _I’ll call Charlie_.”

The connection crackled once again and Sam was gone before Dean could reply. But he knew his brother was safe now, the Court wouldn’t be able to get to him again. Which meant Dean’s head was now fully in the game.

“ _As you can see, I kept my end of the bargain. If you want the woman returned to you unharmed, bring the urn._ ”

“Where?”

“ _Scotland. Aberdeen, to be precise. There’s a train departing Kings Cross in just under three hours, the first train of the day. I’ll text you directions to the locker with your tickets. You should get into Aberdeen station at 5 pm. I’ll have a car waiting for you._ ”

Dean shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. That urn is the only thing keeping Claire alive. I won’t surrender it into your custody until she’s free. When I get to Aberdeen, she goes free. Then when I get confirmation, I’ll meet your car.”

“ _Don’t push your luck, Commander. I might not be able to kill Professor Novak but I can still hurt her. We’ll continue this conversation when you get to Aberdeen._ ”

The line went dead and Dean pocketed his phone, chewing his lip. Castiel had been right, their goal was ultimately Aberdeen - no doubt to Castle MacLeod. Somewhere Castiel had been before. On his own, Dean would never have been able to plan for this contingency. It had been the right move to ally himself with his former enemy.

Current enemy. Dean needed to remember that this was a temporary alliance.

He pushed his way through the crowd towards the stairs. Positioned outside of London, Heathrow’s terminals were connected by the London Underground - otherwise known to locals as the Tube. It was the fastest route to Kings Cross Station.

The platform was packed like a tin of sardines. It was almost impossible to move towards any oncoming train, let alone clear space for the people alighting, and nobody seemed willing to make any concessions. Dean tried not to show his surprise, laced with amusement. The British were known for being impossibly polite but it seemed politeness didn’t extend to public transport. Here it was every man for himself. Which was fine by him.

He pushed his way to the front of the line, elbows pointed outwards, apologising loudly. He’d be written off as just another rude American tourist, if anyone actually spoke up at all. He heard a few ‘tut’s’ here and there but nobody looked too hard in his direction, although he suspected he’d heard one particular old lady call him a ‘fucking Yank’.

Dean managed to wriggle his way onto the train, allowing the flow of passengers to push him towards the back of the carriage. If anyone was trying to follow him down here, they’d find it extremely difficult to remain unnoticed. Anyone shoving their way through the crowd of people would be spotted immediately.

There were no free seats in the carriage but Dean kept his head down for the duration of the journey to Kings Cross. It took almost an hour but he forced himself to stay focused, not to draw unwanted attention to himself. His shoulders hunched, Dean formed almost a protective barrier around the urn that hung from his neck, concealed by his jacket.

At the station, the first thing Dean did was collect his tickets. He still had some time before the train was due to depart for Aberdeen but that wasn’t his plan. He wandered casually, over to the barriers to the platforms and through. There was another train set to depart in twenty minutes and that was the one Dean intended to be on. But it’s destination was not bound for Aberdeen.

It was bound for Gatwick.

Both he and Castiel had determined that it would be much too risky for them to risk catching another internal flight from Heathrow. The Court would have someone watching Dean, at least until he made it to Kings Cross. But there was a flight from Gatwick to Aberdeen airport due to take off at the same time as their train was supposed to depart - and it would get them to Aberdeen six hours ahead of schedule.

He’d seen no sign of Castiel since that one brief glimpse at Heathrow. It was a true testament to Castiel’s skill, the way he could blend into a crowd fluidly and even Dean couldn't pick him out.

But to put his plan in motion, Dean needed to give anyone tailing him the slip. Rounding the corner, Dean made sure he was out of line of sight of anyone who might be watching him, and got to work. His jacket reversed, unfolding into a floor length black peacoat. Dean smoothed it down and turned up the collar. Out of the left pocket he fished a flat cap, jamming it over his head, while the hand in his right pocket produced a pair of dark sunglasses.

The transformation took less than twelve seconds, and Dean turned around and walked briskly back in the direction he’d been walking in, barking fake instructions in French into his cell phone. He hopped on the nearest train, striding up the carriage and exiting out the other doors.

Nobody spared him a glance, so Dean made his way to platform 10 and hopped on the train to Gatwick. He stayed out of sight, in the interim between compartments and out of view of the windows until the train departed the station, and then he slowly walked up the train, stepping between compartments until he got to the last one.

Castiel was waiting for him and nodded to the seat opposite him. Somehow he’d found the time to change out of his disguise and was now dressed in a grey fitted suit - not as tailored as he usually wore, but still fit his frame snugly. He’d forgone a tie, his shirt open at the collar.

Dean slid into the seat. “Aberdeen. You were right.”

The only reply he got was a hint of amusement and a slow inclination of Castiel’s head. Not up for having a conversation then. Dean was okay with that. Now he had some breathing space, he could focus on the hint Sam had tried to drop on the phone.

Keeping Sam alive and unharmed was the only incentive the Court had for getting information out of Claire. They wouldn’t let her go until they were sure of their way forward. But they’d released Sam, let their asset go and subsequently taken away their hold over Claire.

Which meant they had other leverage.

Dean felt uneasy. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

 

 **09:02 AM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

Claire sat in her prison cell, shivering at the cold. It was a comfortable enough room, a furnished guest room, although it had been almost stripped bare of any luxuries. Nothing she could use as an escape or a weapon, if she were so inclined. Then she’d been left alone aside from the guards outside her door.

She was exhausted but she didn’t dare close her eyes. She knew what horrors awaited her when she did. Sam’s scream would echo in her ears for the rest of her life. The sight had been too much to bear and Claire had already felt herself detach from the moment. She remembered Sam being taken below deck, to get his wound taken care of, but the memory was foggy, as if she was watching it rather than experiencing it.

Crowley’s action turned out to have not been so rash. They had a surgeon on board for such an eventuality. Sam had been patched up but Claire hadn’t seen him again. When they’d arrived in Aberdeen, Cecily had told her that Sam was alive and had been released in London. Small mercies.

The door opened and Crowley hovered in the doorway. “Come with me.”

Claire got to her feet shakily. There was no point in disobeying. He would simply pick her up and drag her, and at least this way she would be spared some pain and humiliation. He led her along the hall towards the stone staircase.

“Where are we going?” She asked quietly.

Crowley ignored her, just kept striding forward. He led her outside the main doors and she shivered again. The sun hadn’t been up long and there was no warmth in the air. The floral dress she’d been given provided next to no insulation and her arms were bared to the early morning chill. Wrapping her arms around herself, Claire stumbled as she tried to keep pace with Crowley.

“Juliet!” He roared suddenly, and Claire jumped violently, looking around for whoever Juliet was.

From the bottom of the steps into the courtyard, a black shape emerged from the shadows and then a vicious-looking hound came into view. Claire inhaled sharply at the monstrous creature. This was a dog bred to be a killer and nothing more.

“Juliet will rip you to shreds if you fall too far behind, so I’d keep up if I were you,” Crowley purred. “I bred her myself, along with the others.”

Claire followed his line of sight and saw at least twelve chain-link cages lining one of the walls of the courtyard, each containing another black shadow. It seemed that only Juliet had free roam of the grounds - perhaps she was more domesticated than the others. Or perhaps she was just as sadistic as her owner.

She hurried along, following Crowley out of the courtyard and down some jagged steps in the cliff. All that she could see for miles around was countryside. There seemed to be no possible destination. But Crowley appeared to have one in mind, his steps showing he knew exactly where he was going. It all became plain at the bottom of the steps, where Crowley led her inside a concealed cavern. There was an altar at the other side of the chamber with a corpse strapped to it.

Another person who had crossed the Demon Court had met their bitter end. Thankfully, if there was a scent of death, she couldn’t smell it. All she could detect was a faint hint of antiseptic.

A figure stepped forward to greet them. Ishim. Now her reason for being brought here was clear. She was to be interrogated further.

“The next location is not Mount Ararat.”

Claire kept her face carefully neutral. She couldn’t even twitch or they’d know she was lying. She couldn’t let that happen.

“I don’t understand,” she said, instead.

“It doesn’t make sense. I’ve researched the mountain thoroughly and I can find no reference to angels. The next part of the riddle is quite clear about that. Nor do I feel like it has enough of a reference to Cain or Abel. It doesn’t fit.”

Claire swallowed, feeling Crowley’s eyes burning holes into her. “I… that’s all I know. We didn’t have any resources with us, so Mount Ararat was all we’d had time to figure out. If there was another clue in there, we didn’t find it.”

Ishim bent to scrutinise her face, eventually giving a curt nod. “I believe you. But I think… we should be sure that there’s nothing else you’re concealing, like the urn you forgot to mention.”

“I’ve told you everything,” Claire trembled. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Ishim shrugged. “We shall see. Come.”

He strode down the stone chamber towards the altar. To Claire’s horror, she could see the figure strapped to it was not dead - they were wriggling and crying, but their moans were muffled by some sort of gag. From here, she couldn’t tell if the figure was male or female but her heart went out to them, nudging aside her own fear that it might be one of the ARTEMIS team.

Ishim picked up a scalpel from a tray beside the altar, twirling it in his fingers. So that was where the scent of disinfectant came from.

Crowley nudged her forward and Claire reluctantly put one foot in front of the other. She didn’t want to know who was strapped to the table, envisioning the sight of Commander Winchester, having given himself up for his brother. Or Eileen, or even worse, Jack. She was quite sure she didn’t want to know.

A ray of sunshine slid through the slit-like windows of the room and illuminated the altar and the figure restrained there.

“Someone came looking for you when they should have stayed at home.” Crowley whispered into her ear.

Claire lunged forward, heart thudding in her chest. “No!”

But Crowley was faster, winding his arm around her throat and keeping her still. She fought and struggled in his grasp, her nails tearing into his arm, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “You can watch from here.”

Ishim lowered the scalpel. “We’ll start with the left eye, I think.”

“No!” Claire screamed again, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please, I’ll tell you! Don’t, please!”

Ishim turned to her expectantly.

“It’s Mount Qasioun,” she wept inconsolably. She felt no guilt in betraying the information. All her faith now lay in Dean and the others, because there was nothing else she could do here. “The last location is Mount Qasioun.”

The eyes of the prisoner met hers and Claire sobbed harder.

 _Kaia_.

 

 **11:21 AM** **  
** **DAMASCUS, SYRIA**

Jack and Eileen stood at the halfway point of Mount Qasioun.

The sweltering heat was taking its toll on Jack, who was used to high temperatures in Italy in the depth of summer, not the middle of April, and it would only get hotter as the morning shifted into afternoon. He wore dark sunglasses and had ditched his leather jacket in their rented truck. They’d gone as far as they could go by vehicle. It was all on foot from here.

The prospect of the hefty climb didn’t seem to bother Eileen, who shrugged off the heat like it was nothing. Her hair was concealed beneath a headscarf - both to adhere to the cultural and religious traditions of Syria and the mosque that was their final destination, as well as to keep cool. She’d changed into tan jodhpurs on the plane, paired with hiking boots and a long-sleeved cream henley.

Jack doubted he’d look as good in skintight pants, so he’d stuck to khaki cargo pants and a white t-shirt, loose fitting and cool. Even so, he felt sweaty and sticky. He’d already finished one of his bottles of water, although he still had another four in his pack.

“So, where do we start?” Eileen asked.

Jack pointed at the mosque at the top of the mountain, his face turned towards Eileen. “That was built right over the entrance to the Cave of Blood. Only a few people are allowed in at a time. That’s our destination.”

“I know that.” Eileen shook her head. “I meant once we get up there? How do we know where to start looking?”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not sure. Maybe we’ll figure it out quickly once we get there. For now, we should just plan to look around as tourists and go from there. We’ve got the head start that Claire and Sam bought us, we have to make the most of that, because we’re on our own now.”

“What do we know about this place? Let’s recap.”

“This is supposedly the site where Cain killed Abel - the first murder was committed here. From the riddle, we can infer that we’re supposed to find Abel’s remains and add Cain’s blood to them. The reunion will lay Abel’s spirit to rest permanently. Allow him to move on.”

Eileen nodded, raising her hand to her eyes to shield her from the blinding sunlight. “This is the last piece of the riddle, so this is the end game. Which means another test, probably the biggest yet. Almost certainly traps. We can’t make a wrong move here. We have to be absolutely certain of every step we take.”

Jack agreed, “Absolutely. One wrong step could kill us or destroy whatever it is we came to seek. So, how do we suspect that Abel’s remains relate to a cure for cancer or the virus?”

“I have no idea,” Eileen admitted, swiping at her forehead. “But we’re not going to find out by speculating. We should get going. We’ve got a long hike ahead of us and you already look like you’re struggling,” she added teasingly.

Jack smiled. “You’re putting me to shame once again, Captain Leahy. Just like old times. After you?”

They started up the mountain and Jack wondered what they’d find once they reached the top.

 

 **09:33 AM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

“That’s how we knew it was Mount Qasioun.”

Crowley had released his grip on her hair and Claire had fallen to her knees. She’d told them everything, answering every single question Ishim threw at her, leaving out nothing. What they’d done to Sam proved they were willing to carry out their threats. She couldn’t risk them hurting Kaia.

Sam was a soldier, he’d known the risks. Kaia was not.

It was up to Dean now to keep the urn and Cain’s blood away from the Court. Claire had exhausted all of her options. She hoped the time she’d bought the team was enough but her time was up now.

“Where are Lieutenant Kline and Captain Leahy now?”

Claire lifted her head, confused by the question, and then realised it wasn’t directed at her. Of course, she wouldn’t be expected to know that. Although, she was desperate to hear the answer.

“Last I heard they were on a flight bound for Damascus. I assumed they were following orders and keeping out of our way, but it appears our misinformation allowed them to get a headstart once again.” Crowley turned his glare on Claire, who withered.

She wasn’t scared of him but last time she had given up information, Sam had lost a hand. The idea that Kaia could be tortured was enough to make her flinch at the sign of Crowley’s anger.

Ishim scowled. “Find out if their plane has landed.”

As Crowley left, Claire shakily pressed her hand to the stone floor and eased herself to her feet slowly. Her gaze turned to Ishim, beseeching in a silent plea for mercy. “Please… will you let Kaia up now? I’ve told you everything you want to know.”

Ishim picked up the scalpel and Claire froze, but he merely slashed through the ropes and restraints keeping Kaia tied down. Claire darted over, helping her girlfriend up from the table and pulling her close, tears flowing freely once again.

“It’s alright,” Kaia soothed her, clinging to Claire tightly. “I’m not hurt, Claire.”

The words almost startled a laugh from Claire even amidst all the tears. Kaia almost lost an eye and yet she was the one providing comfort.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Ishim,” Kaia spat.

Claire’s eyes widened and she tried to pull Kaia away to stop her vivacious girlfriend from getting herself into trouble. Then the words registered. _How did Kaia know his name?_

“I told you Claire was wily enough to keep secrets from you, especially when her brother comes into it. She’s too clever, even for you.”

“Right as ever, Kaia.” Ishim sighed, waving his arm in defeat.

Claire shook her head, disbelieving, even as the ice flooded her veins. It wasn’t possible, this couldn’t be happening. She looked at her girlfriend, her arms slipping away as she stepped back. _No_. Claire didn’t believe it. She _couldn’t_ believe it.

“And without spilling her blood! Preserving those of us who have blood purity is important.” Kaia turned back to Claire with eyes that were surprisingly cold. “Don’t take it personally, Claire. Duty comes first.”


	15. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has content including animal deaths that might be difficult to read. Please proceed with caution, your own well-being should be prioritised.
> 
> Please also note that I did my absolute best to research and adhere to the traditions of a mosque. If I erred, I can only deeply apologise and please feel free to correct me in the comments. I will take it on board for the future.

**APRIL 26TH, 09:52 AM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

The morning was chilly, the open Scottish countryside bare of any trees that might protect them from the shrill wind. Their plane had dropped them off at Aberdeen airport and Castiel had disappeared for a short time, returning after having acquired an off-road motorcycle to help them travel the rest of the way.

Castle MacLeod was impenetrable, built to withstand a full-scale invasion from foreign forces, let alone two individuals. Crowley and his paranoia and wealth had only served to further reinforce the defences. Built into the clifftop, it was almost impossible to approach the castle unseen - there were no main roads in or out and the surrounding area was only accessible by off-road vehicles that would be spotted immediately upon approach.

The motorcycle helped them with that, able to be discreetly abandoned in a patch of grass where a car or truck would struggle to be camouflaged.

Dean had driven, at Castiel's insistence, since his shoulder - while healing nicely - was still a liability and he didn't have the full range of movement required to handle a motorcycle. To negate any argument on Dean’s part, Castiel had slipped behind him and slid both arms around his waist, ditching his sling. Castiel’s grip was firm and warm, and Dean was acutely aware of the splayed fingers over his torso, distracting him thoroughly with memories of their hotel room activities.

He wondered if Castiel was thinking about it, too.

The ride had been long and uncomfortable, both with Castiel’s arms around him and the rough terrain. They didn’t speak, except for Castiel calling out directions as necessary. When the castle first came into view, Castiel insisted they ditch the motorcycle and continue the last stretch on foot. It had wasted time but the sound of the engine would surely draw attention from any lookouts if they travelled closer.

Dean sneaked a glance over to Castiel as they walked. He was unperturbed by the hilly terrain, walking as casually as he would over any flat surface. Although the closer Dean looked, the more he suspected Castiel was just unparalleled at keeping a mask fixed in place. There were giveaways that anyone else might have missed but Dean noticed the sweat in place at his hairline, the tightening of his eyes as he focused on where to put his feet. A tailored suit wasn’t the most comfortable for hiking in but he hadn’t had the means to acquire a new body suit of liquid armour. They had to be fitted and that would take too long. Still, Castiel had ditched the jacket, leaving just the crisp white dress shirt and pants.

“Remind me of our entry route?”

Castiel nodded in front of them. “There’s a cavern in the cliff. Some sort of ritual room for antiquated sacrifices, from the little I saw of it.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Briefly. I was driven here blindfolded to ensure I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact location of this place. They weren’t overly thorough in searching me, they forgot to check my boot. I had a GPS tracker there.”

Dean nodded. He’d have done the same thing. “Okay. The cavern is our destination but I don’t understand how it gets us entry into the castle. That’s bound to be where they’re holding Claire, somewhere they can keep an eye on her.”

Castiel shrugged, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, Dean, I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Dean snorted but said nothing else. He recognised that Castiel was stonewalling his attempts to gain more information but also knew that pressing further would gain him nothing.

Still, his lack of candour was forcing Dean to reevaluate his decision. Why was he putting his life in the hands of someone who had already expressed a willingness to kill him? He was banking his own life, Claire’s, and the success of the mission that Castiel’s desire for revenge on Crowley outweighed his desire to one-up Dean and the ARTEMIS team.

He began to doubt himself. Charlie had put her faith in him but he had made the wrong choice. He should have weighed the risks. One civilian’s life against the potential of millions of casualties, affected by the same virus from the cathedral in Lyon. The choice was clear: he should have taken the urn and gone straight to Damascus.

Instead, he was placing the entire mission in jeopardy by attempting a rescue mission that would be classified as risky even if he’d had ARTEMIS HQ backing him up.

Castiel checked a small handheld device and pocketed it again, changing course a little to the left. Dean followed suit, narrowing his eyes as he eventually spotted a cracked opening in the cliff ahead. That was no doubt their destination. Something seemed off. There were no guards, no alarms, nothing to show that this was even an accessible entry to the castle above.

They stepped into the entryway, Castiel just in front of him. It was dark inside but Dean relaxed as he saw the altar at the end of the room. This was exactly how Castiel had described it to him. They were right where they were supposed to be.

Castiel sidestepped, as if to let Dean pass. “The stairs are over here,” he pointed to a passageway that led to some steps.

Dean walked towards them and froze as the shadows shifted. A man stepped down from the staircase, and the small amount of light in the room illuminated his face enough for Dean to identify Crowley. But the light also caught a glimpse of something else. The submachine gun pointed directly at his chest.

“Oh, Commander,” Crowley tsked, clearly enjoying the startled look on Dean’s face. “You need to choose your friends more wisely.”

Footsteps alerted him swiftly to the fact that he was being surrounded but the worst part was the touch of cold steel to the back of his neck as Castiel pressed the barrel of his H&K to the skin there. _Goddamnit._

“The urn’s around his neck,” Castiel almost sounded amused, although Dean didn’t dare turn to see.

Crowley stepped forward, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of the urn hanging from Dean’s throat. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and Dean fought the urge to step back. As if sensing the movement, Castiel cocked the trigger, forcing Dean to stay perfectly still, lest he receive a bullet.

 

**Art Credit:** **[DeanDraws](http://deandraws.tumblr.com)**

 

The chain was yanked violently from his neck, cutting into the skin and drawing a hiss of pain. Dean half-hoped the rough action would free the duct tape and cause the contents of the urn to spill, but luck wasn’t on his side.

“Appreciate the personal delivery of this item,” Crowley stepped back. “Just in time for us to catch our flight to Syria.”

Dean flinched. _Syria._ Not Turkey. Crowley apparently knew the true destination of the final stop, which meant Claire must have caved and told him everything. What had he done to her to draw the truth?

“Where’s Claire?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She’s upstairs now, catching up with an old friend. You’ll see her soon enough. Be sure to say goodbye while you can. You don’t get to live to see the end of this mission, sadly.”

Castiel lowered his gun, stowing it away in his waistband as he stepped away from Dean. “And his brother? We can’t leave any survivors. Nobody must live who can interfere with our plans.”

“Taken care of,” Crowley waved his hand dismissively even as Dean’s blood turned to ice. “Look on the bright side, Commander. At least you don’t have to live too long without your brother. Take him upstairs.”

 

 **10:08 AM** **  
** **LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM**

Sam sat on the tiny hospital bed that was barely big enough to fit his frame. As it was, his feet were already hanging off the edge. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, looking anywhere but at the stump where his left hand used to be. He was healing nicely, the doctors who had assessed him seemed satisfied by the way he’d been patched up. No infection and the morphine drip was keeping away the pain - even though Sam had turned it down as soon as his nurse had left the room.

He should have been sedated but Sam refused. He needed to be awake and alert, even if it was for nothing. The anger was the only thing keeping him going, the white-hot rage that was barely held at bay. Knowing he wouldn’t get to experience the end of the trail pained him more than any amputation. Sam had literally give his hand for this mission, he should get to see it through.

Not just for revenge. Dean could take care of that for him and Sam knew that his brother would come through for him. No, Sam was fully aware that this was his very last mission for ARTEMIS. He’d been maimed, permanently wounded, and he wanted to finish this in the field. Not hear about it afterwards.

He should be by Dean’s side, covering his back, being an asset. Instead he’d been imprisoned, used as leverage against both Claire and Dean, and now he was locked down in a private hospital room while waiting for both the British authorities and ARTEMIS HQ to get here.

Still, Sam couldn’t help but feel pain deep down in his chest, somewhere the morphine couldn’t reach. Was this how Bobby felt without the use of his legs? It wasn’t fair to feel this way. He’d seen his happen to countless other soldiers, his comrades had suffered far worse than this. It was just a hand and not even his dominant one. He’d get a prosthetic and would still be able to have some semblance of a normal life.

But it would be a civilian one.

Crowley hadn’t just taken away his hand. He’d taken away Sam’s career, his ability to look out for Dean.

There was a commotion outside of his door and Sam’s right hand twitched, reaching for a gun that he didn’t have. He sat up, alert and ready to move. He might not have a weapon but since when had he needed one? The door threw open and a doctor strode in, wearing blue scrubs and a white lab coat, stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck.

Sam relaxed. Just a doctor, not a threat. “How am I doing, doctor? Time for more painkillers?”

“Absolutely,” the doctor agreed, reaching for the chart at the bottom of the bed, his hand dipping into his pocket for a pen. When the grip of a handgun was brought into view, Sam reacted without a second thought. He leapt off the bed in an instant, shoulder-checking the doctor into the wall and pinning him there. His hand squeezed, vice-like and brutal around the throat of his victim.

All thoughts of the handgun forgotten at the restriction of his airflow, the doctor scrabbled at the back of Sam’s hand, trying in vain to loosen his grip, but to no avail.

“Your boss might have taken my left hand.” Sam bared his teeth, an ugly snarl on his face as he held tight. “But I’m right-handed, jackass.”

Small ragged gasps escaped the man as he used up the last of his air, his face turning a vivid, vibrant purple. It was almost fascinating from a medical perspective, seeing the blood vessels in his eyes appear and burst, turning the corners an off-putting bloodshot red. The doctor twitched and spasmed against the wall, legs giving way so that Sam was the only thing keeping him upright, but Sam held him aloft like it was nothing.

If his assailant had been smart about it, he might have been able to force Sam to let go. If he’d reached for the gun, Sam would have needed to retreat. But the lack of oxygen had made him panic and now it was far too late for the fake doctor to do anything but die.

When the body went limp and only a glassy gaze stared up at him, Sam finally let go, letting the corpse slump to the floor.

He took a deep, staggering breath and reached down, stripping the lab coat off the body. It wasn’t safe here, that was for sure. No time to wait for ARTEMIS. Sam could get himself out of the country, could get himself to Syria to catch up with the others. Dean could berate him when they all made it back but right now there were only four other people in the world he trusted, and none of them were back in Washington.

But first he needed to get out of the hospital.

He changed swiftly, leaving the half-naked corpse on his bed with the curtains drawn. It wouldn’t be long before someone found it but hopefully he’d make it out of the hospital before anyone figured out what had happened. There were guards outside his door, but they wouldn’t be looking for someone in a lab coat and scrubs. Searching the lab coat, Sam tied his hair back with an elastic band and strode out of the room confidently.

The guards glanced at him and glanced away, and Sam silently sighed in relief. But then one of them looked back with narrowed eyes and Sam knew he’d been made. With no other option, he sprinted down the hall, barging past a pair of residents and a janitor, blindly looking for the stairs.

“Stop! Oi, you! Stop right there!”

Sam bolted through the doorway and up the stairs. They would radio down and block the exits, but nobody would be expecting him to go up. Hopefully there’d be a fire exit or access to another rooftop, otherwise he’d be trapped. But they’d have all the ground floor entrances covered and the police would be there soon enough. It was his only shot.

He panted heavily as he burst through a fire exit, immediately aware of a loud vibrating sound that was almost deafening him. Sam looked up, turning around as a helicopter flew overhead, looking for all intents and purposes as though it was going to land on the roof. Travelling to his waist, Sam’s hand hovered over the handgun he’d stolen along with the lab coat, his gaze fixed on the helicopter warily.

The door threw open and a figure beckoned him forward. His purple robes blew violently in the breeze from the propellers, and despite his pallid face, he looked as strong and regal as ever.

Sam blinked. “Cardinal Duma?”

 

 **10:09 AM** **  
** **CASTLE MACLEOD, SCOTLAND**

Claire had been returned to the castle, but this time she was led down some stone steps and confined to a cell. It was cold and damp, with thick metal bars and an uncomfortable bunk. Kaia was with her, settling against the stone bunk with a sigh. There was a solitary guard outside, just out of reach of the bars. No chance of escape, even if she could get through the solid metal bars.

“Let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Claire spat, turning away from Kaia in disgust. Her head was still reeling. “You’ve been lying to me from the very moment we met. What could you possibly explain that would make that okay?”

Kaia shrugged, unapologetically. “I don’t expect you to ever accept my choices, especially not now you know the truth. But whether you like it or not, I do know you. You have questions and it’s driving you crazy. I’m offering you a chance to ask them and get an honest answer.”

“Honest,” Claire snorted. “Do you even know what that means?”

“You know I’m a member of the Court now. What reason do I have to lie?” Kaia pointed out. “It’s up to you. I can just leave you here or I can answer your questions. Make up your mind.”

Claire kept her back turned to Kaia obstinately but she couldn’t deny that she wanted to know everything. Why the Court was so fixated on her blood purity and why they’d sent Kaia so cruelly into her life.

“Go on, then.” Claire’s voice wobbled. “Start at the beginning. Tell me about that day in the Pantheon. Did you know I’d be there?”

“That’s not the beginning, not really. The beginning starts with your parents. Your birth parents.”

Claire let that sink in before she turned around, a hollow ache in her chest. Her parents? She had no memories of them at all and she couldn’t deny her eagerness to hear even a little about them. Even with the knowledge that she was a pure descendant, something the Court held dear, she’d never once considered that meant her parents had been too.

“Jimmy and Amelia Novak. They were members of the Court too, chosen to be married by the Imperator himself. They were good, loyal soldiers. Your father was even head of its army, much like Crowley is now. Then your mother fell pregnant and they defected. Neither of them wanted you to be born into this life. So they ran and hid themselves away. The Imperator was furious. He spent years tracking them down and then he found Jimmy.”

Claire leaned against the bars, weakly. “He killed him?”

“Oh yes,” Kaia replied casually, almost as if she’d commented on the weather. “Jimmy betrayed him, he had to die. But he was tortured first. Unfortunately, he never revealed where he’d hidden your mother and you. No, that was quite the mystery - until your mother eventually came to us, looking for her husband. After that, we knew exactly where you were. The Court has kept an eye on you since, from your brief time at the orphanage to when you were adopted. Until you came to Italy.”

“But _why_?” Claire burst out, tears rolling down her cheeks out of anger and grief for the loss of the parents she’d never known. “Why do you care what I do with my life? I’m a historian, a teacher for God’s sake! I didn’t even know about Cain’s bloodline until a few days ago.”

“We had to make sure you didn’t sully the bloodline. I was situated in Rome to keep an eye on you but I was never supposed to approach you directly. My job was simply to observe your dating habits. But you never dated at all. It fascinated me. I wanted to know what made you tick. So, I approached you at the Pantheon. Imagine my surprise when you seemed interested in _me_. The Imperator was furious with me for that.”

Claire’s tears turned solely to those of anger, hands balling into fists. She’d been used and manipulated from the very start. The injustice engulfed her, made her feel like she was drowning and ablaze both at once.

“I was ordered to tread carefully, not to get too close. But I fell in love with you. I was terrified the Imperator would find out and punish me, but he came around in the end. Saw how beneficial it was that we were dating. If I was sharing your bed, you were less likely to get knocked up by someone else and defile the purity of our bloodline.”

A loud _crack_ echoed around the cell as Claire’s hand met Kaia’s cheek. It happened so fast that Claire didn’t even realise she’d done it at first but from the way her hand was stinging, she hadn’t held back.

Kaia clutched at her cheek, the welts from Claire’s fingers rising quickly. “I suppose I deserved that. If it’s any consolation, I did love you. I do love you. I’ve been the one insisting they keep you alive all this time.”

“You don’t know what love is,” Claire replied, her voice vicious and mocking. “What we had wasn’t love. Love is based on mutual honesty and respect, and we had neither. I hope you burn in hell, you bitch.”

Kaia smiled, but it was sympathetic and held no ounce of the pain that Claire knew she had to be feeling. “I expected nothing less.”

Claire was saved from unleashing her anger by the sound of a door scraping open and footsteps moving along the hallway towards her cell. She pressed her face to the bars, trying to see out. A couple of guards marched past and then Dean came into view, his hands cable tied together behind his back.

“Commander,” she breathed, catching his attention.

Dean tried to stop, his eyes widening as he spotted her but he was shoved along by Crowley, who was at the rear of the formation. As he sauntered past, Crowley lifted an object, smirking at Claire. The urn.

Claire grasped the bars of her prison in despair. The last piece the Demon Court needed to complete their treasure hunt.

They had won.

 

 **12:29 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

Eileen wiped the sweat from her forehead as she crouched over to unlace her boots. The trek up the mountain had gotten harder towards their destination, under the blazing sun. It had taken them the best part of an hour just to do the walking - first up the steep, craggy steps and then scrambling up a steep incline - not including the breaks they took just to rehydrate. Eileen had caught the sun across her cheeks and Jack on the back of his neck.

But they’d finally made it and it appeared they weren’t the only ones here. Such a public site, open to tourists and worshippers alike. It was going to be difficult to search with all of the surrounding civilians. Discretion would waste time.

Jack sat on the ground as he kicked off his own boots, pulling his socks down to rub at his heels, wrinkling his nose. “I miss Italy.” He waved tiredly so Eileen knew to be looking at him. “More shade, less hiking. More pizza.”

Eileen grinned over at him, wriggling her own toes as she emptied her boots of sand. “Liar. You wouldn’t miss out on this for the world. Although just for once I’d like it if someone cut us a break. A mosque, seriously?”

“At least it’s indoors. I would give my right hand for some shelter right now.” Jack seemed to realise the accidental flippancy the moment he’d said it and they both sobered at the thought of Sam and the emotional and physical turmoil he would be going through right now.

Eileen felt it harder, having known Sam for longer and understanding herself what dealing with a disability could be like. What would this injury mean for his future at ARTEMIS? What would it mean for the growing chemistry between then? Even now he was gone, she couldn’t stop thinking about it, remembering how he’d looked at her. Being teammates complicated everything - but was there truly a chance they’d be teammates again now? She didn’t even know with absolute certainty that Sam was safe and alive right now. The thought made her stomach churn.

This mission had cost them all too much.

The tourists already inside the mosque left, beginning the slow descent to the city, and a man that Eileen quickly identified as a caretaker waved the next lot of tourists forward. The mosque was small, not at all like the wonders of Umayyad Mosque in the city below - that was truly a sight of magnificence. But this received few visitors, the trek up the mountain tiring and fruitless when there was a much larger place to worship below. There was only room for a few people at a time up here.

Thankfully, there were no other waiting tourists in front of Eileen and Jack. They would be next but Eileen was concerned how little time they would have to explore, especially under the watchful eye of a caretaker. If they tried to search for secret doors, the kind of attention brought to them would only inhibit their hunt. They could even be asked to leave or threatened with the authorities.

Eileen wished she could check in with ARTEMIS, although she truly doubted that even Director Bradbury had sway in this part of the world. They were truly on their own and any trouble she and Jack were about to face, they had to handle themselves. Under the burden of that pressure, knowing her actions would truly define her future in the field, Eileen couldn’t help but buckle slightly. There was no impunity here, no back-up. Every decision would be met without ARTEMIS covering her back.

The sun blazed overhead as she set her boots to one side, trying to bolster her confidence. She could do this. Dean had asked her to do this and she wouldn’t - _couldn’t_ \- let him down.

She turned to rummage through her pack, once again cataloguing the limited equipment she’d managed to source for their journey. What if they needed something they didn’t have access to? There was no point dwelling on that. Eileen noticed Jack taking a swig of water from his flask and followed suit with her own. They needed to stay hydrated, which meant she couldn’t allow the task ahead to take over their full attention.

The group ahead of them left and Eileen risked a glance at her watch. “Almost prayer time,” she told Jack. “We couldn’t have timed it better. The caretaker will be distracted, so we can look around.”

As the caretaker waved them forward, Eileen fell behind Jack in a gesture of feigned deference. Adhering to the expectations of the caretaker would allow him to relax, not immediately put him on his guard. He might even overlook her when she was expected to pray.

Inside the mosque was exactly how she’d expected it to be, dusty stone floors, _mihrabs_ built into the eastern wall, a small stack of prayer mats. At the far side of the mosque were some jagged stone steps, leading downwards. Eileen suspected they led down into the Cave of Blood - her true destination. Heedless of the caretaker, who was preparing to start his prayers, Eileen made for the steps.

The vibrations of her footsteps as she walked rippled in her ears. Even as Eileen moved, her eyes were casting around the room, looking for something, _anything_ , that stood out to her as wrong. But even at a cursory glance, she could see the uniformity of the structure. Engineering and geology were her areas of expertise, and she could see without a doubt that whoever had designed the mosque had done so with no hidden agenda. The walls were thick but not thick enough to conceal anything.

If there was a hidden doorway or a secret passage, it was not on this floor.

Her brow furrowed but Eileen wasn’t deterred so quickly. Her research on the plane here had yielded little about when the mosque had been initially built but it made sense to her that it would have been approximately the same time that the rest of this treasure trail had been put together. The structure was meant to hide the location of Abel’s body from prying eyes.

Eileen descended into the darkness, stepping carefully down the uneven stairs, until at last she was standing fully in the cave. She could hear nothing from above but she knew that at certain times of day, Muslim prayers were silent. Reaching for her flashlight, Eileen affixed it to one of the steps, allowing the light to fill the room and aid her vision.

Down here there were more _mihrabs_ , prayer niches that indicated the direction of Mecca, etched with symbols and markings. She could see the vague impression of the handprint on the wall that had led them to this very location.  Adrenaline pulsed through her, her fingers flexing as if itching to get started on solving a riddle she had yet to find.

She swept the cave three times. First with a magnet, looking for any abnormalities. The thin needlepoint didn’t twitch, not for an instant. The second with a handheld metal detector, which took a little longer, but all she found were a few Syrian coins that had been dropped accidentally by past tourists. Her final sweep was with her own eyes and hands, feeling her way around the room. She didn’t read Arabic, nor speak it - outside of a few simple phrases she’d picked up here and there. But she didn’t need to.

PROPHET would once again save the day, this time as an application on her cell phone. It picked up the feed from her camera as she eased her phone around the room, translating the text live into a bar at the top of her screen as she scanned the symbols. Her heart thudded as the first _mihrab_ told of _Qābīl_ and _Hābīl_ \- the names for Cain and Abel within the Qur’an - offering their sacrifices to Allah. Was this it?

Reason overtook Eileen and she forced herself to keep looking. This was the Cave of Blood, the supposed site of the first murder. It made sense that Cain and Abel would be referenced here. This thought only proved itself truer the further Eileen moved around the room. Each stone _mihrab_ continued the story, with nothing at all standing out.

A flicker of a shadow in the beam of her flashlight drew her attention to Jack’s presence. She turned to him with a defeated expression.

There was nothing here.

 

 **11:46 AM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

Dean paced his cell, a heartless expression on his face. They’d brought him upstairs from the altar and marched him past Claire, he’d wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but he hadn’t been able to. His hands had been cable tied behind his back and he’d been bundled unceremoniously into a matching cell down the hallway and left to his own devices.

A short time after, Claire had screamed, and then fallen deathly silent.

Panicked, Dean had tried hailing her through the bars but she hadn’t responded to his calls. He was growing anxious, wondering if she’d been hurt - or worse - but he had no way of knowing. On top of that, he was really confused by Kaia’s presence. He’d only caught a glimpse of the other occupant of Claire’s cell but he recognised the dark curls. Had the Court kidnapped her?

Crowley’s men had taken all of his equipment, including his watch, so he had no idea how much time had passed. He estimated it had been over an hour but not quite as long as two. Long enough that his check-in time with Eileen and Jack was coming up, and he would probably miss it.

He hadn’t factored in Castiel being a double-crossing son of a bitch. Dean wasn’t foolish enough to believe their sex had meant something but he’d saved Castiel’s life. A profound bond, Castiel had called it back in Rome. Formed through a life debt.

Even if that wasn’t enough, he banked on Castiel’s desire for revenge against Crowley staving off their own personal vendettas towards each other.

Apparently not.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Dean’s attention and he quickly stepped over to the bars, pressing his face into the gap between them for a better look. A scowl spread across his face as he identified Castiel and Crowley. No doubt they were here to interrogate him, to see what else he knew that Claire had not.

Dean knew one more thing, one very important thing. But there wasn’t a single bit of leverage they had over him that would make him tell.

“I thought it rude to leave you here without a goodbye.” Castiel shrugged as he came into view, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “ARTEMIS is now officially out of the running, which means the Men of Letters and the Court have finished their business.”

“You’ve got two out of five.”

“Two and a half,” Crowley smirked at him and Dean’s fingers white-knuckled around the bars at the flippancy towards his brother being maimed. Crowley would die slowly and painfully when Dean got out of this cell.

“You son of a -”

Crowley tsked. “Really, Commander. Insults. Sticks and stones, and all that. We’ll see how your insults hold up when you’re strapped to my altar, under a few of my knives. I sadly won’t have the time I usually like to take on torture but I have long enough to make you beg for the mercy of death.”

“Sadly, I won’t be here to watch that. I have a pressing engagement with my superiors now my business here is concluded,” Castiel added.

Dean fixed Castiel with a hateful glare, feeling his blood boil under his skin, his teeth gnashed together in righteous fury. Fucking traitor. “What, you want a freakin’ parade? Want me to walk you out? Sorry, I think I’d rather be strapped to his altar.” He nodded at Crowley.

He knew that Castiel was fast. Had witnessed his speed and skill only days ago in Pine Bluff, and every time they’d met since then. Yet it still took him by surprise when a hand darted out at lightning speed and yanked his collar, pinning him firmly against the bars. He struggled, but Castiel’s grip was almost as strong as the bars and he couldn’t pull away.

Then lips covered his, fleeting and soft and warm. They were gone as quickly as they’d been there, yet the sensation lingered long after they were gone.

“Goodbye, lover. It’s been a true pleasure.”

Dean turned his back pointedly as Castiel left, mind racing as he calculated his possible moves. He had no idea where his weapons were, where his equipment was. He had no idea how to get the urn back, if it was even possible to get it back at this point. Crowley would have put it somewhere secure, somewhere Dean couldn’t get to even if he made it out of his cell.

“I’ll be back for you in a little while, Commander. Don’t get too comfortable.”

At the sound of Crowley retreating, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He counted to thirty once the man had gone, just to make sure he wasn’t waiting around, spying, and then waited another thirty for good measure.

Then he made his move.

The canister Castiel had pushed into his waistband was filled with an acid that would eat through even the strongest of metals. The brief kiss had simply been a cover to hide the transfer from Crowley, distracting him with a taunting display of affection while Castiel’s off hand tucked the small aerosol into his pants.

Dean had been right to trust Castiel. At least in this instance.

Crouching down, Dean bounced on the balls of his feet and jumped, bringing his arms from behind his back to the front. His teeth found the end of the cable ties and he yanked firmly, tightening the cable ties as far as they could go. His hands burned at the sudden tightness, cutting off the blood flow at his wrists, but it was temporary. All Dean needed to do was bring the ties sharply against his sternum, and they broke apart.

Child’s play.

He shook the aerosol thoroughly and, keeping it at arm’s length, sprayed it directly on the lock of his cell door, watching in satisfaction as the acid corroded and ate away at the mechanism, until there was just an empty hole. He pushed the door open just a crack, testing the hinges. They were well oiled and the door opened smoothly and silently. Thank Heaven for small mercies.

He wasted no time in heading for Claire’s cell. Claire had been too silent, it had been unnerving him since he’d heard her scream. Dean doubted she’d been harmed, Castiel or Crowley would no doubt have had shared that information. Still, he was concerned, and that concern only grew when he saw her limp form draped over the bunk at an unnatural angle.

“Claire?” He hissed, but there was no response.

Anxiety drove him to haste and he repeated his earlier motions with the aerosol, cursing when Claire’s cell offered the squeak that his did not. But nobody came running and Dean was able to check on her, dropping to his knees.

“Claire,” he tried again, brushing some hair from her cheek and thumbing her eyelid open. Her pupils were like pinpricks and Dean immediately recognised the symptom for what it was. She’d been sedated. He checked her neck, gently easing her head back and finding the needle mark an inch or two below her right ear.

 _Crap_. This wasn’t something he’d accounted for. He couldn’t leave her here, where she’d be a vulnerability. But he couldn’t carry her with him, she would slow him down, be even more of a vulnerability. His only choice was to stay here until she woke up but that wasn’t an option either. Now Castiel had slipped him the canister, their plan was in motion.

Dean reached down and gently tapped at her face, fingers lightly slapping her cheek as he tried to bring her round. “Claire!” He said loudly, wincing at the volume. There was almost certainly someone standing guard nearby, he needed to be more discreet.

Her eyelids twitched and then cracked open a small amount. “Dean,” she slurred. “Sleepy.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean soothed, propping her upright. “You can’t sleep, okay? You’ve been drugged but we need to get out of here.”

Her only response was her head lolling back against the wall, her eyelids closing again.

“Claire!” Dean hissed, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a quick shake. “It’s now or never. I know it’s hard but you need to try and push through it, okay?”

“I’m trying,” Claire mumbled, her eyes still closed. “My head feels fuzzy, I can’t… I can’t focus. Are you a dream? Just a minute...”

Dean resisted the urge to check his watch. He wasn’t even sure they _had_ a minute. Everything was supposed to be timed with precision. They had a very narrow window of opportunity and then they were screwed. He slid his arm under Claire’s and eased her to her feet.

“Lean on me as much as you need to but keep moving. We have to go.”

Claire nodded, blearily but being upright seemed to help her find a means to be alert. Her eyes opened wider, the sleepy fog fading as she rubbed them. Her limbs were clumsy and she was still leaning most of her weight on Dean but she was awake. He could see the moment she registered that she was not, in fact, dreaming, and that this was a rescue mission.

“Commander? Oh, thank God.”

Dean gave her a small smile. “Actually… thank Castiel. Come on, we have to go.”

 

 **11:58 AM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

Castiel checked his watch discreetly. He was standing across the courtyard from the main entrance to the castle, keeping a subtle eye on the doorway. The courtyard itself was filled with Court operatives, foot soldiers being mobilised for the trip to Syria. There were three offroad vehicles in separate parts of the yard. Crowley held the keys to two of them. Castiel had stolen the other.

Dean should have escaped from his cell by now. Which meant he was no doubt having trouble rousing Professor Novak from her sedation. It was an eventuality that they hadn’t prepared for. They were supposed to be in and out, a rapid rescue mission. Unfortunately, neither he nor Commander Winchester had banked on Kaia’s involvement or her stabbing a syringe into Claire’s neck and rendering her unconscious.

With no way to warn Dean, Castiel had been forced to improvise and leave him in the cell as though he’d betrayed him. And Dean had believed it, Castiel had seen it in his eyes when he’d managed to weasel his way into being allowed a brief farewell. He’d believed Castiel had betrayed him. Well, it wasn’t like Dean had any reason to trust him. Their truce was tentative and unstable, based on mutual interests.

Until the second that Castiel had slid the canister past Dean’s belt, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to do. It would have been all too easy to leave Dean there and seek revenge on Crowley on his own terms. But if he was honest with himself, he found himself rooting for the ARTEMIS team, just a little. They’d proven fearless, resilient, capable. Attributes that Castiel respected. Dean was a leader that was both liked and respected by his teammates, and Castiel appreciated that too.

Besides, they’d been a constant thorn in the side of the Demon Court and that was to Castiel’s advantage.

So, he’d slipped Dean the canister that he’d acquired during their brief separation between Heathrow and Kings Cross. Crowley’s instructions to Dean’s had been clear: no contacting ARTEMIS or the Vatican. With Castiel assumed dead, he’d been perfectly free to contact the Men of Letters and pick up everything they’d needed.

But their window of opportunity was closing. Crowley had officially severed ties with the Men of Letters and Castiel was heading out within a matter of moments. He’d begged a few minutes grace to check in with his superiors, due to the unreliability of cell service up here, but Crowley was already beginning to shoot him looks of suspicion. They couldn’t delay much longer.

Movement from the entrance caught Castiel’s attention. Dean’s head appeared and he peered out, scanning the yard. He locked eyes with Castiel and stepped out, bringing Claire behind him. She appeared to be unarmed, but Dean was clutching a stolen pistol.

Good.

Castiel turned away, his eyes flickering to Crowley. He wasn’t as close to the foot soldier that Castiel had been tracking this whole time, but he was close enough to the fray that it wouldn’t matter.

The soldier that had confiscated Dean’s pack had kept it for himself - after all, it had been stuffed to the brim with fancy gadgets and technology that would sell for a pretty penny. Not that he’d see any of it. His avarice had been anticipated and it would be his downfall. The bottom lining of the pack had a pound of C4 sewn into the lining, and the transmitter was in Castiel’s pocket.

Slipping back into the shadows, Castiel depressed the trigger.

The explosion was intense.

The foot soldier carrying Dean’s pack turned into little more than atoms. The gas tank on the centre Land Rover ignited, creating a column of fire that almost scorched Castiel’s eyebrows even with his back pressed to the wall. Men and equipment were thrown from the centre of the blast, landing in a heap on the floor along with panels of metal and debris.

Before anyone recognised the sabotage for what it was, amidst the chaos, Castiel stepped forward. His eyes were fixed on Dean’s, who was staring right back at him. There was a look there now, the stirrings of trust, and the weight of that almost made Castiel look away. But they only had seconds, so he jerked his head towards the Land Rover at the back of the courtyard, the one he had the keys in his pocket for. They both darted for the SUV, Castiel getting there first. Two soldiers tried to stop him but he took them down with two swift bullets to the torso.

As Castiel reached the vehicle, the sound of an engine drew his attention. He whirled around to see Crowley jumping into the other SUV. He was planning on making his escape, not sticking around to fight. The remaining soldiers were all scrambling towards it, climbing in and on the Land Rover.

Crowley leaned out of the window with a .50 Desert Eagle pointed right towards them. Castiel threw open the door of the SUV as cover but quickly realised the shots weren’t being fired at them. The first bullet took out one of the front headlamps and caused the driver’s side airbag to deploy. Castiel flinched at the volume of the noise so close to his ear but returned fire, shattering the windshield.

Crowley didn’t care about trying to kill them, he was making sure they couldn’t follow him.

Dean had dropped to his stomach on the other side of the SUV, a far better position for sniping. But Crowley didn’t flinch from the hostile fire returned at him, just continued hanging out of the window and aiming. With a loud _bang_ , one of the front tyres blew out, quickly followed by a second. Castiel swore as he heard a faint click and Dean cursed. Out of ammo. They needed a new plan. They weren’t armed for this kind of siege and now they wouldn’t be going anywhere on their chosen escape vehicle. But they still had their off-road motorcycle. There was still a chance.

Seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, Crowley leered in their direction as the Land Rover shot out of the gate, heading down into the Aberdeenshire countryside and out of sight.

But he wasn’t about to leave them with any chance of escape. As soon as he left the gates, the solid iron portcullis slammed down behind him, and steel shutters dropped over every window and door of the castle. Modern fortifications from a paranoid man. There would be no exit unconsidered, Castiel knew that without a doubt. Even the walls were taller than he and Dean could reach combined. They were trapped in the courtyard, with no advancement or retreat.

Castiel turned to Dean to speak, cut off by a new sound. A motor, well-oiled but followed up with a series of clicks. His blood ran cold as he recognised the smug grin Crowley had thrown at them for what it was. He knew what the clicks meant.

Castiel turned slowly.

The gates to the row of kennels adorning the far wall of the courtyard opened.

Black shadows emerged from each of them; large, hulking forms with frothing mouths, sharp teeth. A better owner might have loved these monsters but Crowley had bred his hounds for one reason and one reason alone.

Bloodshed.

 

 **12:06 PM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

A short distance away from his castle, Crowley got back on the truck. None of his men dared look at him, sensing that he was only a hair-trigger away from killing all of them with his bare hands. They were right.

Crowley had never experienced rage like this. That double-crossing scheming _bastard_ Castiel had betrayed him. And despite his own actions in Luxor, Crowley hadn’t even seen it coming. He’d been so blinded by his own success, the capture of Commander Winchester and the urn, that he’d let his guard down. He hadn’t even thought to question whether Castiel would seek revenge for Crowley’s own betrayal, for leaving him to die in Egypt.

He’d already looped in the Imperator, who had been extremely surprised to hear of Castiel’s betrayal - although Crowley, of course, had left out the reason _why_ Castiel had chosen to ally himself with the ARTEMIS team. The saving grace was that it didn’t matter anymore.

They had the urn; the Court were only one destination away from achieving their ultimate goal. And Castiel, that filthy traitor, would be torn apart by Juliet and his other hounds, along with Commander Winchester and Professor Novak.

“The Imperator will be joining us personally in Damascus.” Crowley turned his head towards Ishim. The only member of the Court who was at an even rank with him, Ishim was deserving of his respect and not an outlet for expressing his frustration. “Preparations are underway for reinforcements.”

“And the others?” Ishim jerked his head back towards the castle. “Should we leave a couple of men here to make sure?”

Crowley pursed his lips, shaking his head. It was a waste of manpower and he wanted every available soldier with him to take down Captain Leahy and Lieutenant Kline. He would not underestimate their team again. Besides, they’d be too busy dealing with the little surprise he’d left them.

An ugly sneer spread across his face. “Juliet will take good care of them.”

 

 **12:07 PM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

Claire swayed, barely able to keep her eyes open. She was still struggling with the effects of the sedative that lingered in her system. Her reactions were slow, her movements sluggish. It was taking everything she had to keep herself standing but the dire situation they were in was the only thing spurring her on.

She hadn’t moved from the doorway to the castle, trapped outside by the shutters, but Dean had left her out of the fray when the explosion had happened. Since then, because of the prowling dogs in the courtyard, Dean and Castiel had returned to her location at the top of the steps. They were safe for the time being, the dogs choosing to take care of the still living casualties below.

The screams were too much to bear, as the injured soldiers were torn apart, their whimpers and moans drawing the attention of the beasts.

Claire knew that sooner or later, the hounds would turn their attention to them. And they only had one gun between them. Six bullets left. Fifteen dogs.

Dean had taken Castiel’s gun, while Castiel fiddled with a piece of equipment he’d pulled from the heel of his boot. A GPS transmitter? Claire had no idea what he was doing with that but she didn’t care. Her attention was focused on the fact that Castiel had his back to the dogs, his safety guaranteed only by the weapon they had - _his weapon -_ that he had relinquished to Dean. It was a declaration of trust that Claire didn’t understand.

What had happened between Dean and Castiel in the time she’d been gone? To turn them from sworn enemies out for each other’s blood, to this?

She couldn’t even imagine.

Movement from the smoky courtyard drew Claire’s attention. Her vision was cloudy but she squinted in the direction of the shadows. From out of the debris a figure rose, unsteady and clearly injured. A shrill breeze cleared the tendrils of smoke and Claire inhaled sharply.

“Kaia,” she whispered.

The right side of Kaia’s face was caked in dirt and blood, her hair matted on one side. Even from here Claire could see that her left ear was gone, blown clean off. She must have been caught in the explosion and left behind. Claire had assumed that she’d made her escape with Crowley. Apparently not.

Kaia took a shaky step forward, directly towards two of the hounds. She was disoriented, unsteady on her own feet. Claire realised that she must have hit her head amidst the chaos, leaving her confused and unaware of her surroundings. As Kaia meandered forward, she stumbled over the debris, a few rocks rolling away from her.

One of the hounds raised its head, a rumbling growl escaping as it saw its new target. It edged forward.

Claire instinctively stepped forward too, away from Dean.

“I see it,” Dean murmured in her ear. She jumped, not realising he was moving with her. His hand found her shoulder, keeping her still with very little effort on his part.

Raising the gun, he aimed and squeezed the trigger. As the bullet found its mark, the dog yowled and rolled over, licking at its injured side. The sound of its pain was louder than the bullet and the nearest hounds scented the weakness, swooping upon it. They didn’t seem to care that this was one of their own. It was an easy target and one they took advantage of.

Down the steps, Kaia was just staring at the dogs blankly, not comprehending what she was seeing.

“I have to get to her,” Claire whimpered. Even though the pain still weighed heavily in her chest from Kaia’s betrayal, Claire still couldn’t ignore how much she loved her. She couldn’t leave her to die this way. Nobody deserved that.

Dean gave a curt nod. “I’m right behind you.”

It warmed Claire’s heart that he hadn’t even hesitated, even knowing he would be looking at this situation through a soldier’s eyes. Their best chance of survival was to stay at the top of the stairs and hope they weren’t noticed until they could figure out a means of escape. But Dean had pushed away that logic in favour of her feelings.

She doubted that he would have made that same decision a few days prior.

“She’s dead already,” Castiel sighed but he was already trailing after them. Following the only gun. Or following Dean. Claire wasn’t sure. Either way, she bit her tongue and kept her eyes fixed on Kaia.

Hugging the wall, Dean led the way towards Kaia, edging slowly in the shadows. The darkness wouldn’t hide them for long but the illusion of cover made Claire feel a little less terrified.

Kaia suddenly jerked and Claire could swear she could pinpoint the exact moment clarity returned to her eyes. Unfortunately, the motion caught the attention of one of the nearby hounds that was tearing into the dog Dean had shot, and it slowly released its prey, its eyes fixed on Kaia.

It was closer than they were. Claire suddenly realised they weren’t going to get there in time and she ran forward.

The dog lunged for Kaia’s throat, its teeth finding purchase in the cartilage and muscle. It let go quickly, as Dean’s bullet aimed true but the damage had been done. Blood gushed from the wounds on her neck but Kaia’s face betrayed nothing but confusion as her hands came up to stem the flow of blood.

She dropped to her knees but Claire caught her as she fell, cradling Kaia in her arms. There was so much blood, Claire couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She knew first aid but nothing that could handle the severity of this kind of injury.

She looked up at Dean, who handed the gun to Castiel and dropped down beside her. The gunshot and Claire’s rapid movement had drawn the attention of the other dogs and they were drawing closer. Claire looked up hopefully but Dean’s eyes were filled with an apology that he didn’t express vocally. There was nothing he could do.

Numbly, Claire looked down at Kaia. Her eyes were still open, fixed on Claire. Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth as her chest heaved. She was trying to speak.

“I’m here, Kaia.” A lump rose in Claire’s throat, painful and aching. She didn’t know what to say.

A strangled sound escaped Kaia’s throat and she coughed up more blood. Still, she didn’t give up, simply continued to mouth what she was trying to say.

“I don’t understand,” Claire shook her head, blinded by tears of anger and grief. She couldn’t understand what Kaia was trying to say.

“She’s saying she’s sorry, and she loves you,” Dean told her quietly. “Is that right, Kaia?”

Kaia’s head twitched in a way that was almost a nod and her hands slipped from her throat, her eyes dulling.

As Kaia died, all of the colour and sound faded from Claire’s world. She wasn’t sure how long she knelt there, the lifeless body of the love of her life cradled in her arms. Her heart ached, bitter and painful and cold. The kind of chill that came with emptiness, more an absence of warmth than the presence of cold. In the aftermath of her loss, Claire had no tears. The moisture in her eyes dried up, along with the remains of the heart that was beating in her chest.

She spared no thought for Dean, or Castiel, or the hounds. If they tore her apart, she would have no fear. Their bites could not penetrate the numbness that surrounded her soul. Claws and teeth couldn’t cause her any more pain than this.

In that moment, Claire didn’t fear death. She welcomed it.

To hell with the mission. To hell with ARTEMIS. To hell with -

Jack.

Jack’s life depended on her. She couldn’t leave him. Crowley would kill him. His continued survival depended on them escaping from this castle.

Claire looked up and the sound came back into the world. Dean’s hand was on her shoulder, urging her to get up. Castiel was already looking concerned, his gun hanging uselessly by his side, the slide locked open. They were out of bullets.

Six or seven dogs approached them, scenting the blood, sensing new prey. Closest to them was Claire, still kneeling on the ground. She looked up, spotting the closest black hound, only ten feet away from her.

It lunged, and Claire prepared for her own death.

 

 **12:09 PM** **  
** **ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND**

Dean stepped forward and sprayed the dog in the face with the canister he had used on his cell door.

“Bad dog.”

Castiel snorted.

Dean looked down at the hound, writhing in agony on the floor, and felt nothing but pity. This animal had been mistreated, abused within an inch of its life, forced to fight for its own survival. The fact that it was a bloodthirsty beast was a product of its training. It deserved better than this.

He thought of Bones, Sam’s dog from their childhood years. He had been mistreated and abused, too but when Sam had found him, he’d learned to trust and love. Bones was the most loyal dog Dean had ever known.

Dean had never been a fan of dogs but he’d grown to love Bones. From firsthand experience, he’d seen what cruelty could do to animals and he thoroughly condemned it.

Perhaps death in this instance was a measure of kindness, freeing them from a life of savagery under Crowley’s ownership.

But maybe not.

Dean looked up, preparing to retreat, when his ears caught the distant sound of thunder, growing louder and louder by the second. He glanced at Castiel, who had his eyes on the clear skies and then Dean realised what it was.

Not thunder. A _helicopter_.

The hounds scattered in fear of the unknown, like a domesticated dog fleeing from a vacuum cleaner. Dean looked up as the helicopter hurtled overhead, hovering in place. The air from the blades almost blew Dean off his feet as he squinted up at the craft.

“It’s for us,” Castiel shouted over the roar of the blades, just as a strong nylon ladder dropped down in front of them.

Dean hesitated for just a second and then decided he didn’t give a fuck who had orchestrated this rescue. Anything beat being torn apart by those hounds of hell. He nodded.

“Claire! Are you good to climb?”

Claire turned to face him and Dean was struck by the sorrow reflected in her eyes. This was a woman who had loved and lost, and wasn’t sure how to process it. Her heart, her kindness was tucked away deep inside her and Dean wasn’t sure how to reach it. He wasn’t sure he even could. All he could do was keep her safe now and hope that Jack held a knowledge that Dean didn’t possess.

For all the bonds they had all formed over the last few days, Claire and Jack were still essentially strangers to him. There was trust and unending respect there but he didn’t know them. Not really.

“You’ll be okay,” he promised her.

Claire nodded and Dean held the ladder secure for her, keeping it straight as she climbed. The rotor blades blew her sundress wildly, but modesty was the last thing on her mind. Dean averted his eyes out of respect. Castiel climbed next, scrambling up the ladder one-handed, his injured arm clutched against his chest. The exertion of their mission must have been more painful for him than Dean had realised.

Even in the moment of horror and bloodshed that had just transpired, Dean couldn’t resist looking up at the spectacular ass just ahead of him.

Dean climbed up the ladder last, feeling it swing wildly underneath his feet, but he continued to haul himself up to the top. As he clambered in through the doorway, an arm was offered in aid and Dean took it, pulling himself into the cabin. He looked up to offer his thanks.

“Sam!”

Sam grinned at him, opening his arms in anticipation of the hug that Dean readily gave. He clung to his brother, the weight lifting from his chest that he hadn’t even realised was still there, burdening him from the moment Crowley had mentioned his plan to kill Sam. Whatever he’d had planned for Sam must have failed.

Dean pulled back, his gaze dropping to Sam’s left hand, as if half-hoping that it would be right there, that Claire had gotten it wrong. It was bandaged thoroughly, strapped to his chest and a leather guard covered the stump. His eyes lifted to Sam’s again, really taking in his brother’s expression. He looked well enough physically but there was something haunted in his eyes, betraying his knowledge of exactly how life-changing this injury would be.

“Sammy,” Dean began.

“I’m fine.” Sam interrupted, his eyes darkening. “Don’t you want to know how this happened?”

Dean sat back, willingly benching the conversation for a few moments. He was admittedly curious as to how Sam had managed this escape and rescue mission.

“Alright, I’ll bite. How?”

“We locked onto your GPS signal,” Sam explained, nodding at the other occupant of the cabin. Dean turned to glance at him, his jaw dropping. Clad in purple robes, his face looked even more pallid and weak, but there was a strength in his stature, from his beliefs and his duty.

“Cardinal Duma?”

Castiel, who had sat next to Dean, smiled. “Who do you think hired me?”


	16. The Imperator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing the final chapter tonight, so I decided to drop a bonus chapter!

**APRIL 26TH, 12:40 PM** **  
** **ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND**

Dean held off further questioning until the helicopter dropped them at Aberdeen airport. Cardinal Duma, to his credit, had arranged for a jet to take them to Damascus. It would only be a matter of time before they reunited with Jack and Eileen, and Dean was grateful for that. Claire looked like she was barely holding herself together. Hopefully Jack’s presence would help her.

As they passed through security, their weapons excused on the grounds they were diplomatic bodyguards for the Vatican Secretary of State, Dean came to a difficult decision. This was his team, he was still in command. So, when there was a hard choice, it was his to make.

“Sam, I need a word.” Dean jerked his head towards an alcove, out of the way. “The rest of you, go ahead and board the plane. This won’t take long.”

Sam looked like he wanted to ignore Dean’s order but reluctantly sloped over to the recess in the wall. “Dean, I know what you’re going to say -”

“Maybe so,” Dean interrupted. “But that doesn’t make it any less true. If the shoe was on the other foot, what would you do?”

Defiant, Sam straightened up. “I’d let you see this through to the end. Nobody has given more for this mission than I have, and I need to be there when it ends.”

“You have _one hand_ -”

“And I’ve already proven today that one hand is all I need to kill someone. I’m an asset.” Sam fixed his eyes on Dean, his eyes wide and sad. “You can’t leave me behind. Not this mission. Not you.”

“Sam -”

“This could be my last mission, Dean. Let me see it through. Don’t send me away like I’m a burden. I’m useful and you know it.”

Dean swallowed. “I just…” he trailed off. How could he put into words everything he was feeling. He couldn’t think clearly when Sam was in danger. Crowley had already proven he was willing to maim him. That threat hanging over them, the risk that Sam could die, would be a distraction. A hindrance.

Sam softened. “I know,” he acknowledged. “But you’ll be less distracted if I’m right there beside you. I need to go, Dean. And you need me there, too. Tell me that there’ll be one person by your side that you’d trust watching your back more than me. Even with one hand. Tell me that and I’ll stay.”

“There is,” Dean admitted. The knowledge surprised him, too, but it was nothing compared to the look of stunned despair on Sam’s face. That had been his trump card and it had failed. He’d been banking on Dean’s trust issues, the fact that he’d been refusing to work with anyone other than Sam since they’d joined ARTEMIS. “Any of them. Claire, Jack, Eileen… we’re a team.”

Sam nodded shakily. He looked resigned, dejected. “And me?”

Dean reached out and grasped his brother’s shoulder. “As long as I have a say in it, you’re always on my team. You’re my brother. But sometimes you gotta know when to fall back on your teammates.”

Sam nodded again, clearly not knowing what to say. Dean took a deep breath.

“But this clearly isn’t that time.” Dean said, eventually, caving even in front of his brother’s acquiescence. Sam was right, if this was his last mission then Dean needed him where he always should be - watching his six. “You promise me, right here and now, that you’re good to see this through. That you’ll follow my every order, even if it’s to take a step back. Promise me that and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened.”

Sam exhaled, a great sigh of relief. “You know I will.”

Dean nodded and gestured for them to head out. As they ducked out of the doorway, Dean almost ran into Claire. Her face was remorseful, showing that she’d been listening, but she gave no verbal apology for it.

“I couldn’t… I needed to stand near someone I trusted,” she explained, her jaw tense.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust Castiel?”

“You do?” She countered.

“Good point.” Truth be told, Dean wasn’t sure. The idea that he had been working for Cardinal Duma - not the Demon Court - from the very beginning of this case was confusing to him. Still, he was letting his guard down around Castiel and that could prove to be very dangerous. He still didn’t know what Castiel’s loyalties meant for ARTEMIS.

He wasted no time once they boarded the jet, settling in his seat and immediately fixing his attention on Duma. “For what purpose did the Vatican seek out and hire a Men of Letters operative?”

“The Vatican protects its own interests, as it has always done. The Men of Letters are ruthless but they are trustworthy with their contracts. They get the job done. The Demon Court are too dangerous already, the kind of power this treasure hunt leads to would make them almost unstoppable.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. That sounded like Duma knew more than he was letting on. He’d come back to that. Right now, he wanted to know more about Castiel. He didn’t need to ask, though. Duma continued his explanation.

“One of the prefects in the Archives discovered the passages from the Book of Life and brought it to my attention. Shortly after, the book went missing. I knew immediately it was the Court. They have been a constant thorn in the side of the Holy See for centuries. I contacted the Men of Letters personally with the goal that they would hinder the Demon Court however possible, to stop them from completing their endgame. We were contemplating avenues of infiltration when they attacked the cathedral in Lyon. I had no idea Ishim was a spy, nor that he had managed to discover so much.” Duma shook his head, suddenly looking tired. “The Men of Letters weren’t equipped to deal with the horrors of the massacre, so I contacted ARTEMIS.”

Castiel leaned forward, capturing Dean’s attention. “Which is where I came in. Another Men of Letters operative was initially set to infiltrate the Court. But when you were tasked to lead the investigation, I volunteered instead. Our history appealed to the Court. I had knowledge of you and how you worked. The Imperator took the bait.”

“And yet you still stood by while Crowley tortured the priests in Venice?” Dean pointed out.

Castiel shook his head, his expression regretful. “I came late to that party and an attempt to stop him would reveal my true allegiance. A tragedy but my interference would have changed nothing. I did all I could by making sure you were able to escape.”

Dean remembered the note left on the floor, right beneath his hiding spot. He owed Castiel another debt, it seemed. “Because it suited your purpose?”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted, without a hint of shame. “Your continued progress would hinder the Court’s plans. It was in my best interests to keep you in the game. It’s why I tipped off ARTEMIS HQ about the riddle, why I continued to let you escape. It’s why I tipped off Cardinal Duma about your brother’s location as soon as I had it and why I was able to engineer our rescue from Crowley’s castle.”

All those double-crosses and triple-crosses. It was impossible to know whose side Castiel was truly on. What his agenda was. Whether or not he could be trusted. Dean had the suspicious feeling that Castiel was an enigma that he would never be able to solve. A puzzle box within a puzzle box within a puzzle box. He could keep finding the answers but he would never get to the true heart of Castiel, not in a single lifetime.

Dean turned his attention to Duma. “Why does the Vatican care so much about the Court’s endgame? What kind of power exactly is at the end of this treasure hunt?”

“Our information is based solely on rumour and the information Castiel has passed to me. I couldn’t say what it is the Court are trying to achieve. But I know that their true goal is nefarious and they must be stopped.”

Disappointed, Dean leaned back in his chair but it seemed that Duma wasn’t quite finished yet. The old man’s face was severe, showing the gravity of the situation.

“They can’t be allowed to succeed. If they do, we’re all doomed.”

 

 **01:01 PM** **  
** **SOMEWHERE ABOVE THE UNITED KINGDOM**

Claire stared out of the window, oblivious to the conversation going on around her. She’d tuned out around the time Duma had stopped explaining that he’d been the one to hire Castiel. What did it matter who hired him? He still hadn’t been able to save Kaia’s life.

She wondered if she was broken, if the emotional upheaval had somehow had physical repercussions on her body. The numbness had overtaken everything. The colour had faded from the world and everything looked muted, like she was staring at it through a filter of despair. Life was happening all around her and she was disconnected from it. It was like looking at a vintage photograph.

Even being reunited with Sam had no effect on her. Sam, who she’d been so worried about after she’d watched Crowley take off his hand with an axe. She’d desperately hoped for a chance to see him again, to apologise for not being able to stop it from happening. For not lying well enough. But now she couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t be sure that she even meant them.

An apology wouldn’t reattach his hand any more than it would bring Kaia back.

She kept replaying Kaia’s final moments in her head. Her apology. Her declaration of love. The way Kaia’s eyes had fixed on hers and refused to look away, like she wanted Claire’s face to be the last thing she ever saw.

Did she regret her choices? Regret that she’d infiltrated Claire’s life with a hidden agenda? In the waking knowledge that she was only seconds from death, regret was easy.

Her blood purity didn’t matter when it was spilling from her body. But having someone to hold her as she died, that mattered.

The conflicting feelings Claire had were making her bitter. She didn’t like the ugliness it was bringing out of her but she didn’t care to try and push through it either. Still, she was hyper aware of the support she was getting from Dean, even by just allowing her to be here. She’d hung back at the airport to eavesdrop on his conversation with Sam, concerned that they might be arranging to leave her behind again.

Instead, she’d heard Dean broach the difficult decision of leaving Sam behind, before Sam had convinced him otherwise. She understood now, the price that being a leader exacted. It could just have easily been her, torn apart by the dogs. Dean would have had to live with that responsibility for the rest of his life. The way he’d have to deal with what had happened to Sam.

She wanted to know what had changed his mind with her. Why the thought of leaving her behind hadn’t crossed his mind. But she suspected she knew already. Sam had made the argument that nobody had given more than him for this mission. Claire was the only other person who might have matched that loss. Even without Kaia, she had lost parents she could barely remember to the Court. Her life had been entwined with the Demon Court’s agenda from before she was even born. If anyone deserved to see this through to the end, it was her.

But Sam had just as much right to be part of this. Although, she questioned how much of it was due to his injury and how much of it was that Eileen was still in the thick of things. Perhaps there was something growing there that would outlast the mission. It was hard to say.

Her eyes turned to Dean as he tried for the third time to contact Eileen, with no success. It did nothing to steady Claire’s nerves. Losing Jack wasn’t something she could even entertain the possibility of. She would never recover. He was her family. The only person she had left in Italy that loved her. Hopefully, he and Eileen had made significant progress in their leg of the investigation and had forgotten to check their phones.

Dean dropped into his seat again and Claire watched as Castiel leaned in to speak to him. Her eyes narrowed. That was a surprising turn of events that she had yet to understand. How Castiel had come to be part of her rescue team and why he and Dean were on such good terms. She hadn’t asked for an explanation yet but it was telling that Dean hadn’t offered one.

They were gravitating towards each other, like a magnet to metal. Their differences were many and yet they had found a way to fit together perfectly. She didn’t understand it. What had changed?

As Castiel leaned in to whisper something to Dean, Claire noticed the way the Commander shivered lightly.

 _Ah_.

She remembered their conversation back at Vatican City, about how the intensity of missions projected itself in different ways, depending on the person. Dean had said he’d projected murderous intent - this time towards Castiel. A bitter smile tugged at Claire’s lips. Well, he was projecting _something_ at Castiel, that was for sure.

Dean glanced up suddenly, meeting her gaze. It was like he’d known she was watching him but his eyes held no shame. Either he didn’t know what she’d figured out or he didn’t care.

“Have you tried contacting Jack?” Claire asked him. “Eileen needs to see her phone to know it’s ringing. Jack might hear his.”

Dean reached for the phone again and Claire turned away. She wanted to hear if Dean managed to get in touch with Jack. But right now, she needed to get her head in the game, and to do that, she needed to be alone.

 

 **03:02 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

The distant sound of his phone ringing caught Jack’s attention. He jogged back up the stone steps to get it, concerned.

They had been in the mosque for three hours now - thanks to some quick thinking on Eileen’s part. After their initial failure to find anything, she had quickly taken steps to secure unlimited access to the mosque - involving a hefty bribe for the caretaker. Jack had no idea how she’d even managed to negotiate the price for leaving the mosque in American hands, but it appeared that money was a language spoken in every part of the world and everyone had their price.

The cave below was like a dead zone for cell phones. Eileen had quickly realised the Commander wouldn’t be able to reach them when it came time to check in. They’d reached a decision to each take one floor and the cell phones should stay upstairs. Jack had volunteered to stay in the mosque, while Eileen examined the cave below. Neither of them would allow their failure to rest but neither of them knew what they were looking for. To cover all bases, about thirty minutes prior, they’d switched positions.

He reached his pack just as the ringing stopped and dug through it for his phone. “It’s the Commander,” he told Eileen, who had turned to watch him with confusion.

“Shit,” Eileen cursed, running to her own pack. “I forgot to pick it up. I can’t feel the vibrations unless it’s in my pocket.”

She winced at the display and Jack wondered just how many calls from the Commander she’d actually missed. To allay her stress, he hit redial, waiting for the phone to connect.

“ _Jack? Where’s Eileen? Why isn’t she picking up her phone?_ ” Dean’s voice was abrupt and urgent.

“She’s fine, she’s right here. Reception is really bad.” He shot Eileen a quick smile at her look of gratitude. “We split up to cover more ground, the phones are up top with me and she doesn’t have a ringer on. Did you get Claire?”

“ _She and Sam are right here, they didn’t hurt her._ ” Dean’s volume lowered, and there was scuffling on the end of the line, as if he was moving. “ _Jack, you should know… Kaia’s dead. She was working for the Court the whole time_.”

Jack leaned against the wall, his strength deserting him, both at the news that Claire was okay and the shock that Kaia had been involved at all. Oh God. He had so many questions about that. How, why, and when, but when he found any words at all, he only asked one question. “Is Claire okay?”

“ _She hasn’t taken it well. She’s barely spoken a word since it happened_.”

Jack didn’t really know what to say, but his heart ached for his sister and he wished he could comfort her. “How long till you get here?”

“ _We’re on our way now. We’re still looking at around five hours till we get there, as well as the time it’ll take to climb the mountain. The Court are right behind us, too; we’ve got maybe a thirty minute lead on them. Did you make any progress?_ ”

Jack sighed. “Nothing yet. There’s nothing we can find here that jumps out as being the right place. We’re still working on it; we have a few things left to try.”

“ _Good. Try them. I know it’s a lot of pressure but we don’t have any time at all to waste. We’re counting on you_.”

“Acknowledged.”

“ _I’m going to break silence with command now we’re all secured again. I’ll contact Director Bradbury when we hang up. I’ll call back when we land. Keep your phones nearby and watch your backs._ ”

“Will do, Commander.”

Jack lowered his phone and quickly brought Eileen up to speed. She pursed her lips, disappointed with their failures so far, but Jack could see in her eyes how much she was affected by the news that Sam would be joining them. There was both relief and anticipation.

He wasn’t blind to the way they’d been looking at each other. Truth be told, he’d expected Eileen to shy away from it. She wasn’t the type to form romantic attachments, especially to colleagues. But Jack wasn’t sure he fully comprehended it, anyway.

As an aromantic, he’d never developed feelings for anyone that way. It had worked in his favour as members of the Pontifical Swiss Guard needed to be unmarried males but he sometimes wondered if he missed out. Not being able to elicit romance from any of his brief relationships had left all of his partners unfulfilled, coming to a point where things had always ended badly. They’d all had expectations that he would change, that he would grow to have romantic feelings for them, and then pushed him away when that didn’t happen.

Jack figured that he didn’t need to understand romantic love to know that Eileen deserved it, if only she would open herself up to it.

“There must be something we’re missing,” Eileen interrupted Jack’s thoughts, gesticulating with frustration. “We’ve searched every inch of this place, checked every symbol, ran it through PROPHET. There’s nothing here.”

“I’ve been trying to look at this from every angle, trying to recreate clues that have led us here, but I keep coming up empty. Did we miss something in Egypt?”

Eileen shook her head but it was out of vexation. Jack understood her irritation. They had a matter of hours before Dean and the others touched down, and the Demon Court would be hot on their trail. To have any chance of stopping the Demon Court, Jack and Eileen needed to figure out what would no doubt be the most complex puzzle of this confounded treasure hunt.

“We knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” Jack reminded her, his right hand brushing over the fingers of his left as he signed along with his words. “This is the final destination, the end of a riddle that we already know was designed to be a test of worthiness. Whoever created this treasure hunt, they couldn’t have someone stumbling in on the last step accidentally. That would defeat the whole point of the journey.”

Eileen nodded absently, and then froze, her eyes widening. “That’s it.”

 

 **01:03 PM** **  
** **SOMEWHERE OVER THE NORTH SEA**

Dean hung up the phone and sighed. He’d ducked out into the galley, just next to the cockpit, for privacy purposes. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Claire so brazenly in front of her, to announce her pain to those who weren’t aware of it. Still, he felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to afford her the opportunity to speak with her brother. But Jack and Eileen still had to figure out their next steps, and there simply wasn’t time.

Now, Dean needed to check in with ARTEMIS command and break the radio silence he had enforced for the team’s very protection. He was still convinced of a leak somewhere in the chain, which was why he intended to call Charlie’s direct line. Until there was absolute security, he couldn’t risk any of the information they had escaping.

Dean peered over his shoulder to make sure he was alone and jumped at the sight of Castiel, leaning casually against a wall behind him. “Damnit, how long have you been standing there?” He demanded.

Castiel simply shrugged. “Not long. Long enough to hear your phone call. It’s a wise decision, to check in with ARTEMIS HQ. The Court has a lot of fire power and we could use all the back up we can get.”

Eyes narrowed, Dean jabbed his finger into Castiel’s chest. Any thoughts of trust faded away to irritation that Castiel was _still_ being sneaky. Even though he was being included in their mission, he felt the need to listen into phone calls that were none of his business. “Listen up, asshole, you might have been working on our side the whole time but I still don’t trust you. I haven’t forgotten that you tried to kill me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, swiping Dean’s hand away and stepping in closer. “Are you ever going to stop beating that dead horse? It was my job, Dean. It wasn’t personal. Besides, I’ve had many opportunities where it would have simply been easier to kill you but I didn’t.”

“Well shit, it felt pretty personal to me! And that’s not exactly a concrete reason to trust you.” Dean snapped. “Tell me why I should even let you come.”

Eyes growing cold, Castiel tilted his head to the side. Dean felt like that gaze was tearing him apart, seeing deep into the most vulnerable parts of him. “Oh, Dean,” Castiel clucked. “It was just sex. I might have let you take control then but don’t kid yourself in thinking you have any control over my actions now. I’m going with you to Damascus and there’s not a thing you can do to stop me.”

“The sex is irrelevant.” Dean lowered his voice and immediately looked past Castiel into the cabin to make sure he hadn’t drawn too much attention to them. The last thing he needed was for people to suddenly question how he and Castiel had become allies. That was a conversation he didn’t intend to have with anyone, including Sam. “I need a reason to trust you.”

“Then trust this: we made a deal and I intend to honour it. I fulfilled my side by helping you rescue your teammates. Our truce doesn’t end until I kill Crowley.” Something had changed in Castiel’s face and he was so close, Dean was sure that only the slightest incline would have their noses touching. “Then you can get whatever revenge you seek.”

Castiel pulled back abruptly, leaving Dean alone in the galley, dealing with the knowledge that he didn’t want revenge anymore. Just getting through this mission would be enough for him to call it even. Shaking his head, he dialled the number for ARTEMIS HQ, passing through the switchboards without a trace of his call left behind.

“ _Kevin Tran_.”

“Dr. Tran. It’s Commander Winchester.”

“ _Commander -_ ” Indignation and annoyance rang through all three syllables. In that moment, Dean knew that he was about to receive one hell of a lecture for dropping off the grid. He would face the consequences of his actions but now was not the time.

Dean interrupted, before Kevin could begin his tirade. “I need to speak to Director Bradbury immediately. It’s of the utmost importance.”

“ _Director Bradbury left HQ approximately five hours ago. She told nobody where she was going and is not responding to any attempts at communication_.” Kevin’s voice, if possible, took on more frustration, and Dean now understood exactly why Kevin was so stressed out.

It was Charlie’s job to handle this mission personally. She had insisted on the utmost discretion from the very beginning. Which meant that the Vatican and Carabinieri would be demanding updates from Dr. Tran, who would have no information to give them.

“ _I suspect she is over at DARPA, meeting with Director Shurley, but I couldn’t say for certain. Commander, I am still in charge of field operations. I want a full debriefing, starting with your current whereabouts._ ”

Dean hesitated, stricken with uncertainty. To the best of his knowledge, Kevin hadn’t been involved in any stage of this mission. Charlie had debriefed them personally. Where had she gone? It was unlike her to leave Command during a mission at all, let alone during one of this calibre. Had she really left or was Kevin just stonewalling him? There was a leak somewhere and Dean didn’t know who to trust.

“ _Commander? Did you hear me?_ ”

In the spur of the moment, Dean made his decision and ended the call, glad he’d had the foresight to scramble it. Kevin would be able to decode it, given time, but it would slow him down. Dean would deal with the fallout when he returned to Washington. If Eileen and Jack were successful, they’d have a small head start. He couldn’t risk giving that up, on the off chance that Kevin was the leak. Dean’s gut was telling him something was wrong and he had to listen to it.

He returned to the cabin, scowling as Castiel pointedly looked away from him. Asshole. Just when he’d started to think Castiel might be trustworthy. It wasn’t until Dean retook his seat next to the Men of Letters agent that he realised what had actually happened.

He had grown complacent in his trust of Castiel. It had come to him as naturally as breathing. Not just because of the sex, which had been frantic and hate-fuelled. But because Castiel had honoured his agreement, and Sam and Claire were safe because of it. Castiel had taken further steps to secure Sam’s rescue from the hospital. Dean had no doubt that Sam could get himself out of trouble but Castiel had ensured the assistance was there regardless.

To know that his brother was right here with him, alive, and it was all to do with Castiel - that changed everything. Gone was the bloodlust, the desire to get his own back and one-up the son of a bitch who had ambushed him in Pine Bluff. Castiel was an ally. The suspicion between them, at least on Dean’s side, had faded away, to be left with an uncertainty. Uncertainty and something - Dean refused to think of it as chemistry - that was a distraction.

In that moment, Dean knew Castiel’s appearance in the galley and subsequent hostility had been staged, to keep their heads in the game. Whatever it was that had changed between them, Castiel was finding it as much of a distraction as Dean was.

Dean couldn’t be anything but grateful. Without a clear head, he might have made the grave error of trusting Kevin and giving away their location. With that in mind, he leaned into the arm rest, his forearm nudging lightly against Castiel’s, but he made no attempt to move it.

Castiel glanced over and as their eyes met, suspicion faded to candor, and hostility became something unnamed.

Okay, Dean could admit it to himself. Maybe there was chemistry there after all.

 

 **03:12 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

“What is?” Jack frowned as he ran back through his words. What had he said that was causing Eileen so much excitement?

“The journey. This whole thing has been one long journey with stops along the way. We need to find something that signifies that. It’s the only thing that separates us from anyone who might accidentally stumble upon a clue here. We have context.”

Jack mulled over that. “Perhaps we’re looking at it the wrong way. Every other facet of this treasure hunt has had multiple layers entwined.”

Eileen looked confused. “All of them?”

“There was the painting, which pointed towards both the bones and St. Peter’s tomb. The slab, which had both a map and was made of Nubian sandstone, pointing us towards the Temple of Luxor. Then we only have the hieroglyphs that led us here. There must be something we’re missing, and it must be symbolic of the journey we’ve taken to get here.”

“That does make sense.” Eileen reached for her pack and began scribbling down Jack’s thoughts in a notepad.

Jack sighed. “But the clue was destroyed, Crowley would have set off another incendiary bomb. It’s not like we can go back and look at it.”

Eileen didn’t reply immediately, lost in her thoughts. Something was niggling at her, something that she’d seen that reminded her of a journey. What was it? She straightened up, heading across to the stone steps across the building and descending. She could sense Jack behind her, following, but waited until they were both standing in the cavern to turn to him.

“It’s the prayer niches. When we ran them through PROPHET, they all translated the steps of Cain’s journey, right to left. This one, the offering to God. Then the rejection of Cain’s offering, while Abel’s was accepted. This one depicts the murder and God’s wrath. This one the act of Cain being marked by God and sentenced to a life of wandering.”

“And this one?” Jack touched the top of the _mihrab_ that Eileen hadn’t addressed. “What does this one show?”

“Cain’s family. His wife and descendants,” Eileen replied, significantly.

This had to be it. One of the prayer niches would mark the location of the endgame. The question now was, which one? Which part of Cain’s story was the most relevant?

Eileen moved up to the _mihrab_ Jack had touched, the only one depicting Cain’s bloodline. Everything they had done so far came back to the purity of his bloodline. The immunity allele in his very DNA. This one just made the most sense, and yet when Eileen turned, Jack had moved to the first niche, frowning at it.

“You think it’s that one?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack sounded mildly distracted, as if he was working through something in his head. Eileen didn’t push for more information, knowing to be patient when he had an idea. He would talk through it in his own time.

“How do you think we open it?”

Jack glanced up, his brow clearing. “The same way we opened the sarcophagus in Egypt, I imagine. With blood.”

“Then, why don’t we just try them both?” Eileen suggested but she abandoned that line of thinking as Jack began shaking his head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he admitted. “This whole journey has been a test of worthiness. While the earlier steps might have allowed for shortcuts and mistakes, I don’t think we’ll be afforded that luxury this close to the end. I could be wrong but like we mentioned earlier, I don’t think we get a second attempt at this.”

It made sense. But it raised the stakes tremendously. Dean was counting on them to solve this, not to destroy access to whatever waited for them inside.

“Then we should wait for the Commander,” Eileen decided. The risk was too high and she could not have this fall on her shoulders. Dean would just have to make the decision when he got there. For now, all they could do was wait. She turned to Jack. “Let’s get some air. We’ve still got a few hours yet before the others arrive.”

 

 **04:56 PM** **  
** **OVER CZECH REPUBLIC**

Three hours from his destination and thirty thousand feet in the air, Crowley smiled.

The second the words Mount Qasioun had left Claire’s lips, Crowley had ordered six men to immediately head to Damascus while he mobilised the rest and informed the Imperator of the development. Lieutenant Kline and Captain Leahy might have beaten him there but they would discover little without the urn.

Crowley had that, fastened around his neck the same way Commander Winchester had worn it. May he rest in pieces.

Even so, the little they discovered wouldn’t save them. The six men had arrived a little over an hour ago and had been watching every movement made by the pitiful remainder of the ARTEMIS team. A deaf scientist and a boy. Ending their lives would be like taking candy from a baby.

“You’re saying they’re just sitting there, doing nothing?”

“Apparently so. I’m not close enough to hear what they’re saying but the Captain keeps looking at her phone. It seems as though she’s waiting for instructions,” Crowley’s spy replied.

Crowley’s grin grew wider. No instruction would be coming for them. Commander Winchester was long dead by now and his teammates were sitting wasting the precious time they had left. He couldn’t planned this better if he’d tried. They clearly weren’t anticipating anyone to have eyes on them, which would make this all the sweeter.

“We can take them out at any point.”

Crowley checked his watch. Three hours till he landed. It was risky to make a bold move from so far away but sooner or later, the Captain would realised the rest of her team had failed to check in. Who knows what kind of reckless move she might make?

No, elimination was the safest option.

“Do it.”

 

 **05:57 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

Eileen’s life was saved solely by her inability to hear.

Since they’d hit a brick wall with their investigation, she and Jack had taken a break. They’d eaten, re-hydrated, made detailed notes of everything on the _mihrabs._ They would be fully prepared for when the rest of the team joined them. Hopefully, Claire would have even more insight, so Dean was able to make a decision.

A sound from outside the back of the mosque seemed to draw Jack’s attention. His head turned and the movement caught Eileen’s attention. Which meant she was able to see the flickering red dot as it switched from Jack’s chest to her own. Before the panic could even set in, she threw herself out of the open view of the doorway, screaming for Jack to move.

The concrete behind where she’d been sitting moments before cracked and crumbled. In one smooth moment, Eileen hopped into the balls of her feet and straightened, knives flicking into each of her hands.

A sniper. But the only advantage a sniper had was the element of surprise. And this one had just lost his.

“Stay here,” she told Jack. “We lose this position, we’re screwed. Shoot anyone that comes in.”

“What about you?”

“No, preferably don’t shoot me.”

Jack rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his smile. “I mean, what are you going to be doing?”

Eileen raised her eyebrows, twirling the delicate blades around her fingers with a practiced ease. “Me? I’m going hunting.” She wasn’t sure how many there were but it was clear they were out of time. Edging along the wall, Eileen risked a quick peek out at the entrance, drawing her head back quickly. A practiced sniper would only need a couple of seconds. A skilled one even less.

Nothing. No reaction, no shot.

She’d be at a disadvantage if she stepped out into the open. The mountain would provide no cover, and if there were multiple assailants, she would quickly be picked off. In Eileen’s mind, there was no doubt the Court’s soldiers were trying to draw her outside.

If that was what they wanted, then that’s what they’d get. But Eileen would be smart about it. If the shoe was on the other foot, how would she lay siege to the mosque? Covering the only door would be a good starting point. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only exit. She crept over to the back windows, set six foot off the floor. They were thin windows, no glass, guarded by a shutter, but that opened easily. Climbing out would be a squeeze but Eileen was resilient.

Scaling the wall, Eileen found her footing on the window sill. She needed to be on the roof. Her back scraped against the stone frames as she forced herself through the ledge but she managed it. Warily, she dropped to the floor, her back pressed to the building she had just exited. When nobody immediately moved to her position, she determined she hadn’t been heard. Good.

Grasping the roof, Eileen swung herself up, crawling on the domed ceiling of the mosque.

Just as she’d suspected, there was a second gunman up there, ready to fire as soon as she emerged from the entrance. He wheeled around as she landed behind him but her knife was already sailing towards his throat. Finding her feet, Eileen skidded towards him, catching him as he fell, doing her best to muffle a sound that she couldn’t hear.

The barrel of his Arctic Warfare Magnum caught the top of her boot and Eileen picked it up, freeing it from its straps. Picking it up, Eileen looked down the scope, her heart thudding in her chest with excitement and fear. She hated heights. Up until now she’d resisted looking down the mountain and seeing how high up she was. Now, she couldn’t ignore it.

The sun would be setting soon, the top of the mountain already lit up with an orange glow that was breathtaking to behold. But Eileen’s eyes were fixed on the figure in a thicket of bushes nearby, directly in line with the open door of the mosque.

The bastard who had shot at her.

Eileen steadied the barrel of the rifle and took a deep breath.

Perfect.

 

 **06:15 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

Jack raised his eyebrows, replacing his gun in its holster as Eileen strode back into the room clutching a white sniper rifle. At some point since she’d climbed out of the window, she’d lost her headscarf, her dark hair flowing around her shoulders. Her jodhpurs were stained with dirt and blood, but she was grinning widely. How did he always miss the fun parts?

“Have you just been standing there the entire time I’ve been gone?”

Jack shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, you seemed to have it all in hand, Captain. You told me to wait here. I was just following orders.”

“And you did so beautifully,” Eileen teased but her gaze dropped to her wristwatch and her expression grew to one of concern. She was clearly struggling with something, indecision weighing on her.

“What is it?”

Eileen bit her lip and strapped the rifle around her. “That was too close. We’re running out of time and I doubt that the entrance is the only obstacle we’re going to have to overcome tonight. We need to make a decision. When the Commander arrives, we’ve got maybe half an hour to get in and out, so we can’t waste a single second. From that point, we need to have everything figured out already, so we can get it done quickly.”

Jack nodded. His line of thinking had been exactly the same, although he suspected Eileen’s decision was born out of frustration. He knew she’d be beating herself up for allowing the soldiers to get too close, even though she could hardly have been expected to anticipate it. Jack hadn’t. “Yeah, I think you’re right. They know we’re here and they sent a few soldiers ahead to eliminate us. It’ll be a little while until the Court figures out they failed.  Let’s head down.”

“Tell me why you think the first niche is the right one,” Eileen asked, once they’d descended the uneven stone steps. She touched her hand to the _mihrab_. “I want to hear your line of thinking.”

It was just an idea. Jack wasn’t sure about betting their only chance of success on an idea that he hadn’t even really fully formed yet. He just liked the way it had resonated when it came to him. “We agree that it’s these stone prayer niches because they represent both our journey and Cain and Abel’s. I can see why you think it’s the end one. The end of the journey and the relevance of the descendants of Cain - but I think it’s more than that. I think it’s family. Brothership. Siblings.”

“Based on -”

“The riddle,” Jack answered Eileen’s question before she could even finish it. “The brother waits to ascend. Implying Abel’s… ghost or eternal spirit or soul, if you like, can’t truly be at peace until we reunite him with Cain. Or Cain’s blood, from the urn.”

Eileen looked stunned. Jack couldn’t blame her. A lot of his opinions of this came from his own faith. To someone that didn’t share it, it seemed a bit of a stretch.

“Either way, this whole thing has been more about Cain and Abel than it has been about Cain’s blood purity. The virus that infected him, forced him to kill his brother - that’s where this all started. We’re at the end of the journey but I think we need to go back to the beginning to solve it.”

After a few moments of silence, something in Eileen’s face changed. She nodded, scraping back her hair into a tight ponytail and rolling up her sleeves. She was preparing for business. Jack knew in that instant that he’d convinced her. “Alright,” she said. “So, whose blood do we use to open this? Cain’s? Do we need to wait for the urn?”

Jack’s face fell. He hadn’t considered this option. “If I’m right… I think we need to keep Cain’s blood to the very last moment. I think the blood of siblings will be enough to open this passage. In short… we need to wait for Sam and Dean.”

“We can’t. We can’t afford to lose that time.” She grabbed her pack from the floor and dug through it, eventually producing a tiny vial of blood.

“We’ll use this. It’s Claire’s, what she donated on the train from Venice. If I pour this and you use yours, that’s close enough.”

Jack frowned. “You know we’re not related by blood.”

“But you are family. In every other way. If we’re buying into some sort of spiritual link here, then that should be enough,” Eileen replied firmly. “Whoever set this treasure trail can’t have known there would be siblings in the group that undertook the journey. A familial link, however tentative, has to be enough.”

Uneasily, Jack relented. He wasn’t convinced but he did have faith in Eileen, and if she believe this was the right way to go, then he would follow her lead. She had yet to steer him wrong. If mistakes were made, the failure would fall on Eileen’s shoulders and she knew that, but was willing to take the risk anyway. It was hard to argue with that kind of commitment.

Taking one of Eileen’s knives, Jack pierced the tip of his thumb and held his fist over the niche. As a droplet of his blood fell, Eileen tipped the vial of Claire’s blood, watching as both droplets landed on the top of the prayer niche.

Jack held his breath.

Nothing happened.

Disappointed, he turned to Eileen, to reassure her that the team’s arrival time wasn’t too far away and that they would work quickly to ensure they were gone long before the Court could get more men here. But as he looked away from the niche, there was a whirring of mechanisms. The stone slid down slowly, squeaking and scraping as it went.

Jack covered his ears, remarkably affected by the horrendous noise. Unoiled and untampered with for centuries, the mechanisms were in dire need of greasing. All of the hair on his body was standing on end. Jack looked up at Eileen, who was standing there completely unphased. It might infuriate a lesser man but Jack just saw a woman that impressed him beyond measure, more and more each time they met.

“Remind me never to doubt you again.”

They approached the new cavity and Jack and Eileen clicked on their flashlights in unison. Craggy stone steps descended down, deep into the mountain. There was no visible source of light anywhere, no braziers or means of lighting the way.

“Here.” Eileen pressed a pack of the night vision lenses into Jack’s hand. “Put these in and head down and check it out.”

Jack hesitated. He wasn’t exactly scared of the dark but the fear of the unknown wasn’t exactly filling him with enthusiasm. The idea of descending alone was unnerving. The steps could be old, there could be traps. He might make a mistake.

He turned to Eileen. “You aren’t coming?”

“I have to wait upstairs. There’s no reception down here and the Commander might call. Don’t go far. Just… have a quick look inside and come right back, okay.”

Jack figured he must still have looked unconvinced, because she suddenly slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be right here. Yell if you need me.”

He was halfway through agreeing with her when he registered her comment. He pursed his lips. “That isn’t funny. What if I actually do need you?”

“If you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’ll come down to get you,” Eileen promised, nudging at his shoulders. “Go on. We don’t have long.”

Jack took the time to place the contact lenses in his eyes with a little help from Eileen and a mirror, and then ducked into the small opening. Taking a deep breath, he descended into the darkness, wondering exactly what he would find below.

 

 **06:43 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

Eileen checked her watch again. It had been just under twenty minutes since Jack had disappeared down into the hidden passage. She’d only told him to go and check out what was down there and report back. It shouldn’t have taken him this long. Still, Eileen was hesitant to descend after him. Commander Winchester would arrive sometime in the next hour or two and he might contact her to make arrangements at any point.

She couldn’t miss that call.

So much of this mission had gone pear-shaped. She’d boldly assumed Claire and Sam had managed to escape, instead of making sure. That was on her. She’d quarrelled with her Commander over a decision that, when he’d ruled against her, turned out to be completely right. If they’d hung back to make sure they weren’t being followed, they would never have made it to Vatican City first. She had screwed up repeatedly.

If she made another bad decision, she might as well resign herself to sitting on her ass at ARTEMIS researching. She’d never be allowed in the field again.

Eileen thought about it for a beat longer, her eyes fixed on her phone. Standing up, she shoved it in her pocket and did a quick scan of the mountain with the scope on her confiscated rifle. There was nobody approaching anywhere in sight.

Satisfied they were secure, she closed the doors to the mosque and down the steps. This might be the wrong call or it might not be. But she’d rather sit at a desk for the rest of her life than risk Jack getting hurt. She popped her own set of lenses in and let her flashlight illuminate the way as she ducked into the short and narrow passage.

Her footsteps were cautious as she descended. These steps had rarely seen use and would never have met OSHA regulations. Each one was angled down, a sharp decline, and covered in rocks and debris. Eileen braced herself against the wall with her right hand, her left pointing the flashlight at her feet. Climbing stairs usually didn’t bother her, neither did descending. But the stairs seemed to go on longer than her flashlight could reach and a tumble would almost absolutely kill her.

Eileen noticed her breath coming a little quicker, her heart thudding in her chest. Her fear of heights was almost forcing her to hyperventilate. She stopped dead in her tracks, sinking slowly to the steps. Her forehead pressed to her knees and her hands bracing her against the wall, Eileen focused on deep breaths.

Her head snapped up when the faintest of vibrations in the floor caught her attention. Her hand flew to her boot as her flashlight shone down the steps, directly into Jack’s face.

He flinched, shielding his eyes until Eileen dropped the light with a murmured apology. “I was worried about you, you’ve been down here for a while.”

Jack’s face was one of barely concealed excitement and awe. It was almost contagious, as Eileen found herself desperate to find out exactly what Jack had seen down there. It must be something truly extraordinary.

“What did you find?”

Jack looked down the stairs and then back at Eileen. “I think you need to come and see for yourself.”

 

 **07:23 PM** **  
** **DAMASCUS, SYRIA**

Dean ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. He was unable to reach Eileen or Jack again, both of their phones going straight to voicemail. At least this time he knew why. They had probably figured something out and were out of range of any kind of reception. The anxiety Dean felt persisted, though. Thanks to Duma, they’d managed to clear customs in the air and had a truck waiting for them as soon as they touched down at Damascus International.

Now, they were sitting in their truck at the base of the steps at Mount Qasioun, looking up at the mosque in the distance. It was an intimidating hike and Dean glanced at Duma in concern. There was no way the Cardinal would be able to make the climb. He was still recovering from a heart attack that almost killed him. This mountain might actually finish the job.

It appeared Sam had the same line of thought.

“Your Eminence, I need to make a request. The Court are coming with the full power of their organisation. There are six of us. We need back up,” Sam began, delicately.

“I made some calls before I directed my pilot to pick you up, Captain,” Duma interrupted. “You don’t need to placate me. I’m old and I was never all that spry even in my youth. I’d slow you down.”

Dean tried to hide his amusement. “Your words, not ours.” He shrugged. “But Sam’s right. We do need someone to try and mobilise the Syrian authorities, just in case things go badly up there.”

Duma nodded. “What do you suggest, Commander?”

“Head back to the airport. Keep our means of escape ready to go. I’ve no doubt the Court will come after us once they figure out we’ve escaped with whatever we find up there. Rally the local authorities for us and continually check in with ARTEMIS HQ, but only pass information to Director Bradbury herself. Do not speak to anyone else.”

“ _Si_ ,” Duma replied, lapsing into his native Italian out of weariness. Dean clambered out of the truck, the others all dropping down beside him one at a time. “I will do as you say. The best of luck, Commander. They must not win.”

The truck pulled away at Duma’s order, heading back to the airport. Dean looked around at his team, eyes shifting from Claire to Sam and finally to Castiel. “We have to be at our best up there,” he spoke quietly, knowing they could all hear his every word regardless. “I’m not one for speeches. But we’ve all given a lot for this mission, one way or another. There is no second chance at this. We have to get in and out. You all need to push aside your feelings, whether it’s loss or revenge, and work as a team. If you can’t do that, I don’t want you up there with me.”

Sam reached out, placing his right hand on Dean’s left shoulder and squeezing lightly. Dean expected it. They were brothers. They’d be with each other till the very end, whenever that might be. Hopefully, not today.

“My head is in the game.” Claire stepped forward. It was the first time she’d spoken since suggesting Dean try and reach Jack, but she looked a lot better. “The best revenge will be making sure Crowley never gets his hands on whatever’s up there.”

Dean’s eyes drifted to Castiel, who stared back almost lazily, a spark of amusement in his gaze.

“We had an arrangement,” Castiel reminded him. With a curt nod, Dean began to turn away when Castiel continued. “But I will offer you and your team my loyalty until this mission is through, for whatever that might be worth to you.”

Sam lifted his recovered shotgun silently, returned by Duma from St. Peter’s tomb, and pointed the barrel at Castiel’s torso. He said nothing but his expression spoke volumes. Castiel’s pledge of loyalty meant nothing to him. He didn’t trust him at all. Dean wasn’t about to correct his brother’s opinions just because his own had changed. Just for the sake of diffusing the tension, he pushed the barrel of Sam’s scattergun down so it was pointed at the floor.

“Alright, that’s enough. Come on, let’s go. We have a hell of a climb ahead of us.”

He wasn’t wrong. The climb was arduous, and once they’d reached the top of the stairs and Claire begged for a water break, Dean found himself wondering if maybe he was getting too old for all of this. He wasn’t getting any younger, his twenties had come and gone years ago. Despite that thought, he knew deep down that he could never do anything else. He was a scientist and once upon a time that might have been a civilian path he pursued. Circumstances had dictated a different destiny for him and his time in the military had shown him that he was also a soldier.

ARTEMIS allowed a healthy mix of both passions, saving him at a desperate time when Dean didn’t think he would ever be a soldier again. In spite of the differences between the scientist in him and the soldier, Dean didn’t think he would ever truly be able to give up either part of him. They were both so ingrained in him that it might as well have been part of his very DNA.

He knew Sam was the same.

As they reached the plateau where the mosque was situated, Dean waved for the others to stop and catch their breath. The sun had set not too long ago and subsequently it wasn’t dark enough to restrict Dean’s vision too much. He wandered forward to the closed doors of the mosque, pressing his ear to the aged wood, trying to hear inside. There was nothing but silence, which meant Jack and Eileen had moved on since their last check-in. Hopefully, their route would be plain once they were inside.

The sight of a body dangling from the roof overhead gave Dean pause as he spotted it but it was clear the corpse belonged to a hostile. Had the Court beat them here? Either way, it seemed like Eileen and Jack had put up one hell of a fight.

Beckoning the rest of the team, Dean pushed open the door, heading inside. The mosque was small, smaller than it even appeared on the outside, and the emptiness quickly became apparent. Dean signalled for everyone to follow as he zeroed in on the craggy steps that no doubt led down to the Cave of Blood. He held a single finger up to his lips as he crept down the stairs.

The opening in the wall was both a welcome sight and a reason for fear. This was where Eileen and Jack had gone, it had to be. Yet, for some reason, they had failed to come back up at the predesignated time of their phone call. That was a cause for concern. Something he had also failed to consider was their lack of equipment. They had no lenses, no microphones, no earpieces. No flashlights, aside from a penlight that Castiel carried. Which meant they’d have to descend the deathtrap stairs in the pitch blackness.

“I’m going down first. Sam, take the rear. Be quiet.”

He edged his way into the unknown, squeezing into the narrow passage and descending the steps. With only the faint light from Castiel’s penlight aiming over his shoulder to guide, Dean was forced to feel his way down the steps with his foot. He almost overbalanced twice but each time there was a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him from falling.

He didn’t need to look to know it was Castiel keeping him upright. Of course, the sure-footed asshole was finding this easy. Did he have to be good at everything?

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he gestured for Castiel to cut the penlight. The steps gave way to a short tunnel and Dean could see the flickering glow of flames reflecting against the wall. Not only that, he could hear voices. One of them was female and tinged with a nasality born of her inability to hear.

“Jack!” Dean called out, figuring it best to alert one of them to his presence. “It’s us.”

He rounded the corner and stepped into the open cavern. His eyes widened as he took in the entirety of the enormous room.

Dean exhaled. “ _Whoa._ ”

 

 **08:14 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Eileen’s hand flew to her gun as Jack’s attention was drawn towards the cavern entrance but the sight of the Commander filled her with relief. Oh, thank God. She hadn’t realised they’d been down here so long but it seemed as though there was no harm done.

Movement behind him pulled her attention away from the Commander, and she and Jack drew their guns in unison, pointing them directly at Castiel’s face. The Court was here, they had lost their lead, but she could at least eliminate this son of a bitch before he snuck up on Dean.

She wasn’t prepared for the Commander to put himself in front of Castiel, between the Men of Letters agent and the guns pointed at him, but she lowered the sniper rifle instantly.

“Commander?”

“He’s with me. With us. He helped rescue Sam and Claire.”

At the mention of their missing teammates, Eileen watched as they both emerged from the darkness. Claire ran forward and Jack barely had time to stow his gun away before he got an armful of his sister. They clung to each other and Eileen noticed the tears rolling down Claire’s cheeks as she was reunited with her brother.

Eileen’s feet moved of her own accord and she found herself approaching Sam. Her heart thudded in her chest, despite her calm steps. She had never been so relieved to see anyone in her life. Despite the fact that everyone was here, reunited, her eyes were only for Sam.

Stopping in front of him, Eileen slid her hands over his broad shoulders, clasping behind his neck as she pressed herself to his chest for a hug. Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away. She blamed herself for Sam getting hurt and to have him back was overwhelming her more than she could say. It was only when Eileen felt an awkward one-armed pat to her back that she realised that Sam wasn’t returning the embrace.

She withdrew, pulling back just enough so she could see his face. “You can hug me back any time now.”

Sam’s face didn’t change but his mouth tightened slightly and he averted his gaze. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Eileen brought one hand to his cheek, to turn his face back towards her. Her heart ached painfully in her chest at the look in his eyes. “You’re not broken, Sam.”

She knew she’d hit the nail right on the head when Sam’s face crumpled. It lasted only for a second but that moment was all she needed to see how much his injury had affected him. He was vulnerable, uncertain of his own abilities and worth. He didn’t think he was good enough for her any more.

“Do you think I’m not good enough because I’m deaf?”

Sam sighed. “That’s not it at all. It’s totally different. You’re… beautiful and smart. So smart. And surprisingly proficient with a longsword. You’re kind and funny, and way too good for me when I had two hands, let alone one.”

“You’re all of those things, too. Minus the longsword thing.” Eileen smiled up at him. “And the fact that you lost your hand but you’re still standing right here means you’re strong and brave too. Those traits are more important than having two hands. Besides, how many hands do you think you need to be able to kiss me?”

Sam blinked and a smile spread across his face. “I take your point.”

“Not completely.” Eileen smiled, rising to her tiptoes and leaning in. “Because that wasn’t just a suggestion.”

She waited for Sam to close the gap and he did so, his lips claiming hers in a light kiss that Eileen was sure she would remember on her deathbed. Not because it was spectacular, but because it was their first and she could feel it all the the way to her toes. Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt both of Sam’s arms finally wrap around her.

When they parted, Eileen laughed breathlessly and kept her eyes closed, wanting this moment to last just a little bit longer.

It was perfect.

 

 **08:15 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Dean’s attention was lost to the wonder of the cavern they were in. It was a huge cavern, the ceiling upwards of fifty feet above them. What surprised Dean most of all was the modernity of the design of this room. To the back of the room, spanning from wall to wall, was a huge glass grid. In the centre of the grid was a squared dais with a glass sarcophagus in the centre.

The walls lining the grid were covered with opaque black panels that had a glossy sheen to them, reflecting the light of the torches that Eileen and Jack had placed sporadically around the room. They looked almost like glass. The panels started around four feet from the height of the floor.

It was breathtaking and completely mindblowing all at once. How could all of this have gotten here, how did it all look so modern? This was far more advanced than anything they would have had centuries ago and yet, somehow, it had all been made and transported to the top of a mountain. Yet the path that led them down here had been crude and completely contrasted the architectural masterpiece of this room.

When Dean was able to tear his eyes away from his surroundings, he found all of the other members of his team locked into intense embraces. Claire was sobbing silently into Jack’s shoulder, while Sam had somehow managed to lock lips with Eileen. Dean smiled, overjoyed to see his brother find even a small measure of happiness. Eileen was good for him, if he didn’t screw it up.

Still, the awkwardness of seeing all of the affection around him saw him looking to Castiel for solidarity. That he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable. Yet somehow, Castiel appeared to misunderstand his intentions and lifted his arms in invitation.

“Would you like a hug, Commander?” Castiel asked, innocently.

Dean glared at him. “I will shoot you. In the face. Without a second thought.”

But he couldn’t quite stop the corners of his mouth turning up as he looked back at the sarcophagus. Apparently, Castiel had a sense of humour. “Alright, we’re on a schedule here. Wrap it up and talk me through everything since we last spoke.”

“I don’t know how much you saw upstairs but there are prayer niches that are engraved with the story of Cain and Abel. We came to the conclusion that our journey up to this point has been a metaphor for Cain’s journey and his relationship to Abel. My theory was that the passage would open with the blood of siblings. So, we used my blood and some of Claire’s that Eileen had bottled to open the tunnel.”

Dean blinked. “But you and Claire aren’t -”

“Blood related, I know. I can’t explain it.” Jack shrugged. “But it worked.”

Dean wasn’t convinced. The solution was right because the tunnel opened. But the method leading to it was flawed. Somehow, Eileen and Jack must have gotten the right answer for the completely wrong reasons. They’d have to work backwards to find out what the true reasons were because they were running out of time.

“What about down here?” Dean asked eventually. “What did you find out down here?”

He wandered over the glass grid towards the sarcophagus. This seemed to be the object of interest in the room. There was a body in there, Dean could see that immediately. The thickness of the glass made it difficult to determine what stage of decomposition the body was in but Dean could just about make out some tubes surrounding it.

His eyes traced the path of the tubes as much as he could, until he reached a small point in the glass, about the size of a dime, that was open to the elements.

“That’s where we think you’re supposed to pour the contents of the urn - but not yet. There’s another step first, that’s what we were trying to figure out when you got here.” Eileen had joined them at the pedestal. “And then there’s this.”

Dean leaned in to see what Eileen was pointing at. At the foot of the sarcophagus, there was a thick, heavy tome, opened to a specific page, and an empty vial that was connected to the other end of the tube. Thankfully, the glass was thinner here, leaving Dean able to read every symbol on the page. If only he were able to.

“What language is it? Sanskrit? Arabic?”

“Syriac-Aramaic.” Claire leaned over, squinting at the page. “I recognise a few of the symbols but I can’t read this. What about PROPHET?”

Eileen nodded. “PROPHET worked. I ran it through but it still made no sense to me. It seemed like it was more under Sam’s area of expertise.”

Sam stepped forward, taking Eileen’s offered phone and loading up the PROPHET app. Dean hovered at his shoulder as the symbols slowly began to translate live on the screen. Sam seemed to be devouring the words, his thumb scrolling through the sentences faster than Dean could read them.

“Dean, this is… this is unbelievable.”

“You want to share with the class?” Dean asked, impatiently.

Sam waved apologetically. “How much do you know about telomeres?”

The words rang a vague bell in the back of Dean’s head. Maybe something from his freshman year in grad school? Certainly not enough to understand whatever was on that page.

“They’re chromosomal caps, made for protecting genetic material,” Dean said eventually. “Nothing more than that. That wasn’t my focus in biology.”

Sam nodded along with his words. “Right. They’re sequences of DNA at the end of each strand. Scientists think there are about eight thousand base pairs of these in a newborn. Unfortunately, they wear down each time our cells multiply, becoming shorter and shorter. An adult generally only has around three thousand base pairs and an elderly person has fifteen hundred. They’re considered to be the cause of what makes the body age. You with me so far?”

Dean made a face. He was keeping up, sure, but he didn’t exactly see the relevance. What did telomeres have to do with any of this?

“This is fairly new information and in the last decade we’ve been able to measure telomeres. It’s been theorised that by slowing down speed in which telomeres shorten, we could add thirty years onto our lifespan. Not only that, there’s the link to cancer.”

Realisation spread across Dean’s face. This was something he knew about, had studied at college. Even if he hadn’t, everyone knew something about how cancer worked. “Because cancerous cells divide more often, massively shortening the telomeres.”

“Right, exactly. So get this, whoever wrote this book talks about an enzyme to stop telomeres from shortening _permanently_. Allowing for infinite cell multiplication. Do you know what that means?”

All the breath was knocked out of Dean’s lungs. Yes, he knew exactly what that meant. The gravity of what that would mean for the world. He also knew what the true prize at the end of this treasure hunt was, and why the Demon Court were so desperate to get their hands on it.

“Immortality,” Castiel breathed.

Dean swallowed.

“Yes and no.” Sam shrugged but his eyes gave away his excitement at the prospect. “You could still be killed by an accident or trauma, overcome by disease that works faster than your cells can multiply to heal. But if you live a careful life, you could live to be hundreds of years old and barely look like you’ve aged a day.”

Dean turned away from Sam, shaking his head in disbelief. This just increased the pressure on them astronomically. The Court couldn’t get their hands on this. In the hands of the wrong people, this would be abused.

Was the world even ready for something like this?

Dean thought about Bobby and Ellen, how old they had both looked the last time he’d seen them. What could this enzyme do for them?

He turned back to his team. “We need to get this sarcophagus open. That book needs to be out of here before the Court arrive. Eileen, you have some spare mics? Good. Radio up and let’s get to work.”

 

 **08:32 PM** **  
** **DAMASCUS, SYRIA**

Cardinal Duma hung up the phone from his failed attempt to contact Charlie Bradbury for the third time. Kevin Tran was becoming quite suspicious of Duma’s repeated calls to hail the Director but refusing to leave a message. While he didn’t fully understand Commander Winchester’s lack of faith in his superior, he respected it.

His plan had been to speak to ARTEMIS before making a move but Duma was unable to wait any longer. His own man was up on the mountain with little back up. He couldn’t let the Demon Court hurt Jack or the others. That blood would be on his hands. The only option was to act.

He stepped off the plane and backtracked to the gate, flagging down a member of security. Thankfully, he spoke English fluently. That, plus the sight of his Vatican identification was enough to have the guard’s full attention.

“I need to see the person in charge.”

The guard nodded, taking him through a sealed door that opened with the tap of his card and down a winding corridor. He stopped at a nondescript door and knocked, opening it when he was hailed.

The guard turned to Duma to introduce him, failing to notice the Beretta 92FS that was being pointed at him, complete with suppressor.

“No!” Duma exclaimed.

The guard dropped to the floor from a single shot, slightly off-centre in his forehead. Blood splattered the front of Duma’s robes and his face, but he did nothing to clear it away. Shocked by the casual murder in front of him, he was unable to do anything.

Until Duma’s eyes zeroed in on the other occupant of the room. Someone he recognised immediately. “It’s not possible,” he breathed. “You’re a member of the Demon Court?”

“Its leader, to be precise. Not that you’ll be able to tell anyone.”

Duma stumbled back away from the gun but he could do nothing to save himself. He didn’t even hear the sound of the gun as it fired.

His eyes were still open as he fell to the floor, dead.

 

 **08:42 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

Jack followed suit with the rest of the ARTEMIS team, searching for something that jumped out at them. They were looking for anything that didn’t belong, that was reminiscent of Cain and Abel. All of them were reeling from the information Sam had gleaned from the leather-bound tome within the casket but no-one was more rattled than he was.

He felt unsettled in a way that he couldn’t put into words. Throughout this entire treasure hunt, he’d spent hours wondering just what was so valuable that it was worth killing for. He’d thought of countless mythological items of power, a wealth that surpassed all others, but immortality? To Jack, that hadn’t even been a possibility.

“What’s wrong?” Eileen asked him, causing him to look up from his examination of the grid floor. “You’re quiet. I figured you of all people would have a lot to say.”

“Me of all people?” Jack echoed. “What does that mean?”

Whatever was on his face, it made Eileen frown. “Nothing, I was just saying that this is such a huge thing. Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack sighed. “I just can’t help feeling unsettled by this.”

“In what way?”

Jack felt uncomfortable explaining himself but if he knew for sure that someone wouldn’t judge him for his thoughts, it would be Eileen. Religion had never come between them. “It seems… blasphemous. Death should be inevitable and these chemicals are just a way of playing God.”

“I think you’re looking at this the wrong way,” Claire spoke up. Apparently, she’d been listening. “I feel like it actually puts more weight behind your beliefs.”

Jack stared at her. “You do? How?”

“Look at the age the antediluvian patriarchs in the Bible are recorded to have lived to. That’s pre-flood,” she clarified before anyone could question her. “Methuselah, who was at least 960 years old. His grandson, Noah, who was just a little less than that. Human lifespan was exponential back then and then suddenly it changed. Moses only lived to be 120. Almost like some secret knowledge of living longer had been hidden away.”

Dean joined in their conversation from his position by the sarcophagus. “You can’t be serious. You want to tell me that a period in history that hadn’t even invented a toilet, didn’t even have knowledge of what DNA was, managed to invent something that extended life expectancy to almost a _thousand_ years? Call me a sceptic but I ain’t buying it.”

“They don’t need to have invented it. Who said there wasn’t an earthly mineral that had those unknown properties? Something that was almost wiped out during the flood or that nobody but Noah knew about. Maybe they were just deemed worthy of the knowledge.” Claire defended her position firmly.

“By God?” Dean asked, calmly. “It’s a nice theory but none of it is rooted in facts.”

Jack shook his head at Dean’s disenchantment with religion. “Sometimes, Commander, a little belief goes a long way.”

The sound of scraping emerged from the tunnel and Jack’s hand flew to his gun before he could even think about it. He didn’t need to look to know the others had all done the same. Someone had descended the stairs and would be rounding the corner any second now.

Jack flicked the safety off his gun.

“Lieutenant Kline?” A familiar voice called.

Surprised, Jack lowered his gun, glancing towards Dean as General Adam Milligan strode into the cavern, looking around in confusion and awe. Adrenaline coursed through him as he realised this was Duma’s promised reinforcements. The Court wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near him now, they had the full force of the Carabinieri behind them. Which meant ARTEMIS couldn’t be far behind.

“Adam,” Claire breathed, relieved at the presence of an ally. “We need your help, the Court -”

“- is already here.” Adam shrugged, his expression one of bored disinterest as he looked between Claire and Jack. A casual hand came up to gesture at the tunnel entrance.

Out of the darkness sauntered Crowley, wearing the smug smile of a man who already knew he had won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter and the epilogue will both post together in the near future.


	17. Blood

**APRIL 26TH, 08:59 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

Dean briefly considered headbutting the guard that approached to tie his wrists, but ultimately thought better of it. There were too many hostile guns and too many people around that he cared for to take that kind of risk. He didn’t think he could stand seeing anything happen to them. For now, compliance was his best bet while he worked on an escape plan. With that in mind, he reluctantly allowed his hands to be zip tied behind his back before he was forced to his knees.

Crowley was watching him from one side. “You’re difficult to kill, Commander. I thought for sure Juliet would have digested you by now.”

“What can I say? I’m resilient,” Dean spat.

“Indeed you are. But even a cat runs out of lives, eventually. You and your team will be taken care of tonight and there’ll be no rescue this time. Which reminds me, I must send the Vatican flowers. They lost a Cardinal tonight.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as Jack made a sound of despair.

General Milligan marched up to them, his examination of the room complete. Even out of uniform, he still looked imposing, his expression one that demanded obedience. This was a man used to power.

“Enough, Crowley.”

A shadow flickered behind Crowley’s eyes but he obeyed instantly. “Yes, Imperator.”

“You can gloat later. For now, we need to find out everything they discovered. Interrogate them, then kill them. Except the Professor. We will not spill pure blood if we can help it.”

Jack spoke up, then. “How could you, Adam? Claire and I… we’ve known you for years.”

General Milligan turned to look at him, his eyes wide with mock-surprise. “Do you expect remorse from me, Jack? When I have a blood purity that you could never understand, a purpose that you couldn’t even dream of? You think that my deception of friendship over the years is something that even registers to me?”

Jack snarled and spat at the ground in front of Adam’s feet.

“It’s out of respect for you that I will honour my arrangement with Kaia to keep your sister alive, but that respect is short-lived,” General Milligan warned softly. “If you do something so vulgar again, I’ll hand your sister over to Crowley and his tools, and you will watch every second of her pain.”

Claire thrashed as her hands and ankles were ziptied. “Why is blood purity so important to you anyway? We might have Cain’s blood but so what?”

“We are superior,” General Milligan replied simply. “Our blood protects us from the virus that caused the Father of Murder to commit fratricide all those millennia ago. Our bloodline is tied firmly to the Patriarchs who lived to be hundreds of years old. God chose our bloodline to survive the Great Flood. We exist _because_ we are superior.”

Claire shook her head and Dean was proud of her for standing firm, even the face of their own peril. She didn’t bend in the face of a chance at survival. Her anger and grief were giving her the strength to focus, he could almost see the cogs whirring. Dean had seen it the whole time they’d teamed up. She came alive in the presence of a puzzle to be solved. She thrived under the pressure. Jack was the same.

They all did, which was what made them work perfectly as a team.

“Get what we came for,” Adam instructed, turning to Crowley. “I’ll be upstairs arranging transport. The bombs will be here shortly. Where’s Ishim?”

“Here, Imperator.” Ishim stepped forward and bowed his head in respect. “You have the page?”

General Milligan fished a carefully folded piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it over to Ishim on his way out of the cavern. Dean’s eyes followed the movement, noting how old the stained paper looked. Was this the source of the riddle?

Crowley caught him looking and his satisfied smile grew wider. “You know, I wondered how you always seemed to know exactly where to be, when we had the only copy of the Book of Life. Now I’m quite certain I know.” His eyes flickered to Castiel in distaste. “It’s quite unfortunate that your spy didn’t give you the full copy of the riddle.”

There was a ripple of movement as every member of the ARTEMIS team turned to look at Castiel. Though he looked unbothered by the scrutiny, Dean could see the surprise that flickered across Castiel’s face briefly.

“I gave you everything I found,” Castiel breathed, his whisper ringing loud and clear through their microphones.

Sam scoffed.

“I believe you,” Dean replied honestly. Castiel had nothing to gain by holding back more information, especially at this stage. He would have told them already. Crowley was just trying to divide them all before they were interrogated.

Crowley continued speaking, oblivious to the brief exchange. “I persuaded our leader that perhaps it would be best if the last stanza of the riddle was kept on his person at all times, away from our investigation. Just in case any outsiders were to be light-fingered.”

Another stanza of the riddle. Dean felt despair spread across his face and saw it mirrored in the faces of his team. They were always operating on incomplete information and would never have been able to finish this mission. It was a blow to the gut. They had given so much, they had come so far, and they would always have been deprived of the means to see this through.

“What does it say?” Dean asked, resigned.

Crowley hesitated for a brief moment and then waved Ishim over. “Go ahead, show him the completed riddle. Let him see what he and his team died for.”

The paper was thrust in front of Dean’s face and his eyes took a moment to focus. It was from the Book of Life, the parchment was old and smelled musty so close to his nose. He read the riddle aloud as his eyes danced over the page.

 

 

_When the sun burns fire below Egypt,_

_At the south-west of the new land_

_It begins._

 

_The tomb of the truest believer points the way._

_The map will be shown in waters of blood._

_It begins._

 

_Where it drowns, it takes its place with the buried Boy King._

_Down, down, down, to the eternal resting place of the Eldest son._

_It begins._

 

_The brother waits to ascend, below an angelic hand._

_He lingers, seeking family to show him the way._

_It begins._

 

_The sacrifice of the Eldest son is the final key._

_The journey completes as blood gives way to blood._

_It begins._

 

 

Ishim withdrew the paper as Dean finished, already walking away. He’d been given an order to complete the mission and he would obey.

Dean ignored him. His mind was racing with everything they had learned, everything they suspected. This was all about the journey, the steps they had completed so far. The portrait, the virus, the tunnels. They’d all led here, to Mount Qasioun, to the origin of the first murder. But why the other locations? Vatican City, Egypt, they had no connection to Cain and Abel.

He needed to figure this out.

“I have it!” Ishim called out, and Dean snapped out of his reverie. “The sacrifice of the Eldest son. Cain’s sacrifice was the death of his brother. Blood must be spilled on the grid.”

Crowley turned back to Dean and grinned, sadistic and cruel. “Perfect. Couldn’t have planned this any better myself. Who to choose?”

He walked along the line of hostages like a buyer surveying goods, and Dean glared at him, teeth bared. If Crowley touched any of his team, Dean would kill him. Even if it meant his own life. Then Crowley stopped, and Dean felt nothing but conflict and panic.

“You. You’ve been incredibly useful in the past and I can’t think of a more fitting end.” Crowley reached forward and grasped Castiel by the hair, hauling him to his feet. “The traitor should die first.”

There was no hesitation. There wasn’t time. Dean shifted his weight from his knees to the balls of his feet, staying crouched, and hopped through his arms. It seemed the Court had yet to learn their lesson about the ease of getting out of zipties. It was one of the first things Dean learned how to do during his SEAL training. He didn’t have time to break them open, just brought both of his fists up and smashed them into the face of the guard behind him.

As the soldier recoiled, Dean brought his booted foot down _hard_ on his instep, plucking the gun from his hands. Whirling around, Dean raised it, cocking the trigger and pointing it directly at Crowley. The world seemed to move in almost slow motion as he watched Crowley raise a knife to Castiel’s throat, oblivious to the threat. In the torchlight, the blade glinted maliciously.

Dean shifted his gun slightly to the left and fired.

 

 **09:12 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN, SYRIA**

General Milligan had just reached the top of the steps when he heard the sound of the gunshot below. It didn’t concern him. Crowley would have things well in hand, and had no doubt fired the gun as part of his orders to elicit information from the ARTEMIS team before he killed them.

At the capture of the ARTEMIS agents, there was nobody left to interfere with the Court’s plan. A lifetime of searching had finally come to fruition. The centuries of searching from all of the Imperator’s before him had came up empty, but he was the one to reap the reward of immortality. For thirty years, he’d been acting as Imperator. Now nobody would take the role after him.

He would be the last Imperator of the Demon Court and wield a power strong enough to bring about a new era. The era of purity.

At least now the pretence was over. It had been difficult to play his role of ally to Jack and Claire, at least since the start of this mission. He had been the intruder in Claire’s apartment and it had been he who passed the order to Ishim to plant the car bomb on Jack’s Fiat. Oh, how he had laughed when they had dealt with their threats by calling _him_. The irony. He should have killed them then but Kaia’s pleas of mercy for Claire had stayed his hand.

Adam exited the mosque, raising his binoculars to his face. In order to save time, they had opted to place manpower on the scene before equipment. Bribes had been paid, officials would look the other way as the hired trucks arrived. The first would be filled with incendiary devices, enough to permanently destroy the cavern beneath the mountain. Not an atom of evidence would remain.

The second truck would be responsible for the storage and transportation of the treasures they would recover from below. Priceless knowledge that simply couldn’t be carried down, exposed to the elements. No, it required more care. Specialised equipment, vacuum-sealed cases.

The trucks couldn’t climb to the summit of the mountain but they could park at the halfway point, at the bottom of the steps. Adam would recall some of his soldiers from below and arrange for the transport of the crates up the mountain steps. The contents of the sarcophagus, on the other hand, he would carry personally. Nobody else could be entrusted with such an important task.

He checked his watch. The drivers should have been here by now, but they were running late. It betrayed a lack of organisation within the Syrian militia, that their drivers could not be here on time.

His radio crackled. “Imperator, the trucks are here.”

Adam’s binoculars swept along the road leading to the mountain path and he smiled as he saw the first of two trucks begin the ascent.

Excellent.

 

 **09:15 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Dean was hit in the back of the head with the butt of a rifle and he dropped to his knees with a cry of pain that was more of a curse than anything else. He rubbed at his head with the back of his restrained hands, looking up to see the results of his bold move.

Crowley had released Castiel, the knife thankfully free of blood. Castiel was sprawled on the floor at Crowley’s feet, his face as unreadable as ever. Crowley’s eyes had been fixed on Dean but now they turned to the soldier that was currently bleeding out on the glass grid floor. The only soldier that had been touching the glass grid. Dean’s bullet had pierced his throat, killing him instantly.

His aim had been true.

“How sweet!” Crowley crowed, recognising Dean’s true motivation faster than expected. “Very well, Commander. I applaud your tactics and your bravery. You’ve just bought your traitor another few minutes of life.” He kicked at Castiel, who crawled away from him back into line.

Dean inhaled sharply as he could feel Castiel’s eyes boring into him but he refused to meet them. He wasn’t ashamed of his actions. He’d had only seconds to think of a solution to the problem and this had been what he’d chosen.

“What the hell, Dean? Why didn’t you kill Crowley?” Crowley might have understood his motives, but it seemed that Sam did not.

Dean couldn’t reply immediately, as the results of his handiwork came to light. Ishim had been right, the trigger had been blood once again, spilled over the grid floor. The black panes that lined the walls adjacent to the grid floor began to hum. There was a faint hissing sound caused by a rush of air that Dean found himself unable to pinpoint, and then everything fell still.

The distant humming of the glass panels still echoed around the room, and Dean took advantage of the almost silence to reply to his brother’s poignant question under his breath.

“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything. Someone else would have killed Castiel and then likely all of us. This way, I bought us _all_ a few extra minutes.”

Ishim approached the glass grid, filled with an unconcealed glee at the puzzle that lay before him. Something had changed and now he got to figure out what. It was the same thing Dean saw on Claire’s face when she was figuring something out. Except Claire was a good, kind person and Ishim was a despicable individual that needed to eat a bullet.

Crowley hung back, his eyes narrowed warily. He was too cautious to approach the grid, seemingly preferring to let Ishim handle the puzzle aspect. In fact, he went so far as to take a casual step backwards as Ishim stepped onto the grid.

Dean held his breath.

Nothing happened. Ishim took another step forward, crossing from the first grid square into the second, marked by silver trim on two adjacent sides. Halfway across the second square, he stumbled and then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Ishim? What is it?” Crowley barked.

There was no response. With his back to the room, Ishim clutched at his throat, twitching and spasming unnaturally. As his head fell back, it was possible to see that his mouth was open in a silent scream, but he could muster no words. Dean watched in curiosity and fear as Ishim fell to all fours, head falling forward limply as his shudders stilled.

Nobody moved. The room was motionless from terror. It was clear that nobody wanted to approach Ishim to find out what had happened, what had caused his sudden collapse.

“Did he just have a heart attack?” Jack asked quietly.

Eileen inhaled sharply. “No, look.”

Ishim was moving again. His head whipped around, his feet finding purchase on the floor. As he turned, everyone in the room recoiled. Claire gasped and shuffled back at the look on Ishim’s face. There was nothing intelligent there whatsoever. His skin had gone a sickly pale grey, his irises jet black. His movements slow, like an animal creeping in on its prey, Ishim slowly turned and began to crawl towards the nearest living object. In this case, that was Crowley.

“Ishim?” Crowley barked, reaching for his gun as he stepped back.

“There’s nothing of Ishim left in there,” Sam breathed into his microphone. “He’s infected, like the guards at the museum.”

Dean could see the evidence of Sam’s words in front of him. Ishim’s focus was solely on Crowley, who he’d obviously decided would make his next meal. It was an animalistic focus, that of a predator. All that was on his mind was bloodlust, pure and simple. Sam was right, whatever spark of humanity there was in Ishim was gone. His DNA had morphed him into something primal.

Ishim lunged, a bloodthirsty snarl on his lips, but he didn’t make it off the grid. His head snapped back as Crowley fired, the bullet piercing right between Ishim’s eyes. His body lay on the stone ground, just at the edge of the glass grid, black irises glassy and unseeing. It was truly a disturbing sight and Dean felt horror slowly envelop him. Nobody deserved to go like that. Not even Crowley deserved to have his humanity stripped away from him.

“I thought the Court were immune to the virus,” Claire breathed. “How was Ishim affected?”

Sam shook his head but he didn’t have any scientific answer. Just a guess. “The Court never actually used the virus from the bones we had at the start. They had their own powder. Maybe this one is more potent?”

“We’re in the endgame now,” Dean whispered. “Looks like all bets are off. Nobody is safe.”

They all fell silent as they let that information sink in. The Court didn’t have unlimited men with them and they wouldn’t want to waste much time here either. Sooner or later, Crowley would realise that he could save his own men by sacrificing them.

Even while he was still reeling from that thought, Dean felt a spark of hope. The truly bloodcurdling way Ishim had died had been the last piece of the puzzle for Dean. He understood everything they were meant to do here. Eileen had been both right and wrong in her assumptions so far. She was right in her guess that their journey was a clue, and Dean now knew why. It represented Cain’s journey. It was what they’d been doing the whole time.

First was the riddle. The book itself had been found in a tomb, Claire had told him. Left as an offering to a Pharaoh. An offering, like the offering Cain had made to God. The offering that had started it all, millennia ago. Additionally, it was also an offering to the person who find it. A hint at a great reward to the person who followed the treasure hunt to the end. The greatest reward of all: immortality.

Next came the portrait at Castel Sant’Angelo - a double clue, first referencing the bones and the blood powder, and then a rock. A crude reference to the rejection of Cain’s offering and the origin of the virus that caused him to become murderous and commit fratricide.

The labyrinthian tunnels in Egypt that were symbolic of Cain’s subsequent punishment, sentenced to a life of wandering. The traps in them, indicating the curse that was placed upon Cain for his sin.

And now here. They’d been brought to Mount Qasioun, the site where Cain had committed the first murder. They had been brought back to the beginning and would begin to recreate the journey again, one last time.

But Eileen had been wrong about what had opened the prayer niche that led them down here. She had claimed Jack and Claire’s blood worked, but it wasn’t because they were siblings. Claire was a pure descendant. Cain’s blood ran strong and untainted in her veins. But Jack carried the blood of a different ancestor - the other surviving son of Adam and Eve. Cain’s other brother, Seth.

Both a descendant of Cain and one of his brother had given an offering of blood and so the way had been revealed to them. An offering which had started the cycle all over again.

The blood of the guard that Dean had killed was a rejection of their offering. The rejection had provoked the release of the virus into the room, transforming Ishim into a bestial creature that retained nothing of his humanity. Whether Ishim was meant to kill someone else or whether stopping Ishim was the plan, the next step of the ritual had been completed.

The murder.

But Crowley would go no further alone. He had lost his most intelligent soldier. The man who was supposed to solve everything for them, to figure out the rest of the clues so the Court could achieve their ultimate goal and gain the secret of immortality.

Which meant Crowley would be looking to coerce the ARTEMIS team into finishing their task. As Dean realised this, so did Crowley. His eyes turned to the team, and Dean was struck by the rage in Crowley’s face. Ishim’s death had frightened him. He was rattled and he was processing that the only way he knew how. With anger.

Dean's team knew nothing. But that wouldn’t satisfy Crowley.

There would be no reprieve from his anger now.

 

 **09:20 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

General Milligan lowered his radio, feeling sick to his stomach from the description of the events below. The guard that had reported Ishim’s death had been shaken to his very core. Whatever he had seen had truly unsettled him.

It wasn’t lost on Adam that they had just lost the brains behind so much of their progress. Ishim had been the one to uncover the hidden meaning in each part of the riddle so far. It was a most devastating loss for their goal.

Still, Adam had no doubt that Crowley would utilise every other resource at his disposal. The ARTEMIS team had proven to be useful and they had made it this far on their own combined merits. They could be useful again before they were disposed of.

Adam checked his watch. The Syrian authorities would look the other way temporarily, but he needed to be out of here before midnight if he was to make it back to Rome before he was missed. The clock was ticking. He watched as the trucks pulled up at the bottom of the steps and reached for his radio once again.

“Send six men up to begin unloading the trucks. Everyone else stays with Crowley until the job is done.”

 

 **09:21 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Claire knew from the moment Crowley turned his attention to them that there was trouble on the horizon.

“Let me see, who to choose,” Crowley murmured as he scanned the ARTEMIS team for his next victim. He briefly paused at Castiel but ultimately moved on, shaking his head. “You’d probably enjoy it too much. This one.”

He snapped his fingers and two of the guards came over, hauling Eileen to her feet. Sam started to get up but Dean yanked him back down, a steady hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. Claire’s stomach twisted as she watched Eileen struggle in vain. She couldn’t watch someone else be tortured, she just couldn’t. She’d seen enough blood spilled over the last few days. Yet somehow, she couldn’t look away.

Eileen was forced back onto her knees in front of the group. Crowley clearly wanted a full audience to his handiwork. No doubt to instill fear of what would happen to them afterwards if they didn’t talk. He knotted his hands into her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her throat.

But that wasn’t his target.

Eileen began to struggle again as one of the soldiers produced a handheld drill and handed it over to Crowley. He tutted mockingly at her struggle and tightened his grip on her hair. “You’re the deaf one, right? Let’s even things out a little. See how useful you are to your teammates when you’re blind too. Let’s start with the left eye.”

Sam was actively struggling against Dean now, who was all but sitting on his brother to stop him going after Eileen. It was a fight Dean was losing, as Sam was only zip tied by the ankles.

“Stop. Sam, stop!” His voice rang loud and clear through their earpieces, but it was barely above a whisper.

“Dean, do something! Tell him we’ll talk!” Sam pleaded.

Dean didn’t immediately say anything but Claire understood. There wasn’t anything he could say. They couldn’t talk. If the forfeiture of their lives was the only thing that stopped the Demon Court getting their hands on this incredible power, then it was a small price to pay. There was more at stake than Eileen’s sight, and all of them knew it.

The tear that trickled from Eileen’s eye showed Claire that she understood the Commander’s predicament too. It wasn’t a teardrop caused by fear or misery. No, Eileen was _pissed_.

“Alright! Stop! You win. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Claire forced herself to look away from Eileen as the words rang through her earpiece. She truly didn’t believe that Commander Winchester had said that. He had been the one who kept fighting all this time, kept _all_ of them fighting when anyone else would have thrown in the towel. Ever since Dean had saved her life in Lyon, Claire’s faith in the man had never wavered.

How could he do this to her now? To all of them? How could Dean let all of this be for nothing?

“I thought you might come around,” Crowley grinned, lowering the drill. “Start talking.”

Claire couldn’t help but listen as Dean explained everything, but she felt betrayed. All she’d lost, and Dean was going to help the Court win. It wasn’t fair. It was unjust. Yet all she could do was wait and hope that, even though he was telling Crowley everything, Dean had a plan.

Dean was right in his theories, she knew that much. As he talked through what he’d figured out, about their own journey, about Cain’s, it all made perfect sense. If she hadn’t been so angry at him, she might have felt awe over how he’d managed to put everything together.

“Which means the next step is representative of Cain’s sentence, banished to a life of wandering,” Dean started to wrap up his theories. “I think Ishim died because he tried to cross to the middle directly. We need to follow the silver lines of the grid and spiral inwards towards the centre, touching every square.”

Claire hesitated. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? Yes, that was Cain’s punishment, Dean was right. But there was more to the story of Cain and Abel than that. Cain lied about killing his brother and then when God punished him, he sought forgiveness by implying that he would be killed by the first person who saw him. Cain wanted to be put out of his misery, a lifetime of wandering the earth alone. At least until God granted him a wife.

Yet Crowley seemed satisfied with Dean’s explanation. “Good enough for me. Sadly, I’m not losing any more of my men in favour of your theories, Commander. You can test it out personally. In fact, why not take the traitor too? We’ll all go.”

He clicked his fingers and one of the guards cut the cable ties around Dean’s wrists and ankles, repeating the process with Castiel. Claire watched as both men rubbed at their joints as they were roughly pulled to their feet.

“You first, Commander. The traitor can follow you. Assuming you make it past the first square, I’ll follow close behind.” Crowley turned to his guards. “If anyone tries anything, shoot them all. Start with the Commander’s brother.”

Dean walked forward, the barrel of Crowley’s Desert Eagle motivation enough to abate any hesitation. He peered along the edge of the glass grid, looking for the starting point within the silver trim lines that marked the path. Satisfied with whatever he saw, he was about to step out onto the glass when everything clicked into place for Claire.

 _Forgiveness_.

“No!” She cried out. “Dean, wait! You’re wrong!”

He frozen, taking a cautious step back as he glanced over his shoulder. She saw something in his eyes that she had never expected. Trust. For her. In her intelligence.

“Explain.” Crowley snapped.

“I mean, he’s half-right. But before Cain was sent to the land of Nod - which was a metaphor for his banishment to a life of wandering - he repented. How do you usually depict someone who is seeking penitence?”

Realisation dawned on Dean’s face. He understood what she was trying to explain and he took a second to process it, expressing his gratitude in silence. His eyes bored into hers, placing all his faith in her. “On their knees. We need to crawl.”

Claire nodded. “See how the glass panels on the wall start a few feet up from the floor? I think you'll need to be below that level.”

She knew that by speaking, she was doing what she had just condemned the Commander for. She was helping the Demon Court achieve their goal. But her silence would result in Dean’s death and she couldn’t let that happen. Claire knew that she would make the same choice again and again if she had to. These people, this team, they were family now. If she could save Dean’s life, she would never regret that choice.

Claire watched as Dean dropped to his knees and crawled onto first glass pane. He showed no hesitation, more evidence of his faith in her.

She held her breath as she watched him pass from the first square to the second, and then to the third.

They’d done it.

Claire just had to hope that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. But as she watched Dean crawl forward, she was certain that she hadn't. If there was one thing she could believe in, one person that she could lay her hopes on, it was Dean.

 

 **09:23 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Dean’s knees ached from the unforgiving glass floor. He might as well be crawling on razors for the burning with each movement, but he didn’t dare stop. Castiel was hot on his tail and a slip or a wrong move could send them onto the wrong square of the grid. Dean had no intention of going out like a weird mutated zombie creature. If this was the end, he’d go out like a man. One that  didn’t have the urge to take a bite out of the closest human being.

He shifted, rotating his body ninety degrees as he turned the next bend, spiralling into the second layer of the grid floor. A pressure built in his head as he moved, the solid hum of the floor vibrating through his bones. Dean remembered a similar sensation from when the Court’s machine had been turned on below St. Peter’s Basilica.

This was both more and less intense. It would be worse if he was forced to stand, but then he’d be infected, so he doubted he'd notice the pressure anyway. He clambered over the body of the soldier he'd shot, but was unable to entirely avoid the pool of blood that had spilled from his victim.

As the path grew shorter, Dean found himself meeting Castiel’s eyes. The Men of Letters agent showed no emotion on his face at all, but Dean had half-figured out how to read him now. Castiel was looking for a way out of their current predicament.

“Don’t,” Dean breathed. The only response he got that Castiel had heard him was the tension in his shoulders. “Don’t do anything stupid. Just wait. Trust me.”

There was no reply, but there was no time for one. Dean had finally reached the centre squares, the sarcophagus on the adjacent square. He shuffled back as far as he could, holding his hand out to help Castiel into the centre. They had made it here alive. To ease the burden on his aching knees, Dean pushed up onto his feet, staying crouched firmly below the lower line of the panels on the wall. Claire had noted her belief that the panels were marking the active area of the virus, and Dean was inclined to believe her.

“What now?” Castiel muttered. “I waited. You better have a good plan, Dean.”

Dean shook his head as Crowley crawled into the centre. Not yet. There was hope here. It might not save their lives but Dean had long since accepted that. Even Castiel knew that the possibility of escape was slim. Yet Dean had hope.

“Looks like you were right again, Commander. You and your team have proved valuable to us. Now stand up.” Crowley gestured with his gun.

Dean stared at him. He hadn’t planned for this. “What?”

“You heard me. Up. Now. Both of you.”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted anything he’d been about to say. “It's my turn to ask now. Trust me. Stand up.”

Their eyes met, and Dean saw nothing of the cold, stoic agent that had ambushed him in Pine Bluff. Instead, he saw an operative that was as intelligent as he was capable and knew something in that moment that Dean did not. More than that, he saw an ally. Castiel held out a hand and Dean immediately took it. It was warm and callused, and fit perfectly in his. He tried not to think too closely about that but kept his eyes fixed on Castiel’s blue ones regardless.

“Me first?” Dean suggested. It was only polite. And only fair that, if they were about to eat each other to death, he got the first bite. He might not want to kill Castiel any more but he hadn't forgotten their first meeting.

Castiel shook his head, not breaking eye contact either. “Together.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean grasped tightly to Castiel’s hands and they rose, passing above the line of the panels. He half-expected to fall back to the floor, but nothing happened.

“A safe zone,” Castiel whispered. “We passed the test so we can move freely within these four squares.”

Crowley snarled as he realised that they were safe, completely unaffected by the virus. “Stay in that square, both of you, or your friends die.”

Dean shuffled in close to Castiel, releasing one of his hands in favour of grasping Castiel’s shoulder. It looked like he was trying to obey Crowley’s orders, but that wasn’t the case. He was leaning in close, preparing for something he’d been building up to. His last plan.

His last hope.

Crowley loosened the golf-ball sized urn from his neck, peeling off the duct tape in a single jerk of his hands. “Finally,” he crowed. “The secret to immortality.”

He tipped the urn over the hole in the sarcophagus, and Dean watched as the blood slowly trickled down into the tubes.

Fearful of what might happen now, Dean pressed in close to Castiel. They were chest to chest, his feet between Castiel’s, and his lips right next to Castiel’s ear. He’d kept one secret close to his chest ever since he was in Luxor and if he was truly about to die, Dean wanted one person to know what he’d done.

“I switched out the blood.”

 

 **09:24 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN**

General Milligan watched his men unload the last of the crates outside the mosque. The incendiary devices were all ready to go. He’d have his men bring them down only once the contents of the sarcophagus was secure. He couldn’t risk that being destroyed.

He checked over a few of the crates until he found the one that held his specialist vacuum-sealed cases. He’d bring one of those down himself now. Crowley should be finishing up any minute now. He had faith his torture specialist had gotten out of them every single shred of information that the ARTEMIS team had to offer.

He descended the steps inside the mosque carefully, knowing it would be even more difficult to manoeuvre the further set of steps while carrying something so bulky. A necessary evil. He would have to descend slowly and cautiously.

He was just over halfway when he felt the earthquake.

No, not quite an earthquake.

The box slipped from Adam's hands, bouncing down the steps as he braced himself against the wall. The whole mountain felt like it was coming down on him. The stone rippled and warped beneath his feet, a pressure mounting inside his skull.

There were screams from below but they sounded a million miles away, as if he were underwater.

His grasp on the wall was the only thing keeping him upright. Dread filled him, knowing something had gone terribly wrong.

He turned, scrambling his way back up the steps towards safety.

 

 **09:25 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

The low hum of the machine had increased exponentially, a vibration that was as loud as a pneumatic drill. Castiel, who was normally good at keeping his balance, knew in that moment that Dean was the only thing keeping him upright.

The glass floor was defying anything Castiel thought he knew about physics. It almost flowed, arching as if someone was shaking it out like a bedspread. How could they still be standing when the floor moved in such ways? That wasn’t the worst of it. Castiel could just feel that something was _wrong_. Normally when his gut told him that, he was booking it for the nearest exit.

Dean’s hand in his kept him grounded, overpowering the fear.

One by one, the glass panels that lined the walls of the grid began to shatter, sending razor-sharp shards towards them. Castiel averted his gaze but they clattered to the floor just before reaching them.

Dean’s words echoed in his ear and even amidst a fear he’d never experienced before, there was still a level of peace. The Court had failed. He’d succeeded in his mission. All thanks to Dean. That would have to be enough.

It _was_ enough. The power that the Court would wield if they held the secret of immortality was too great. It was better than the knowledge was destroyed than to let it fall into their hands.

Crowley turned to them, his gun lifting upwards as he realised what had happened. “You… you did something. You swapped the blood.”

Dean released Castiel’s hand and rolled up his sleeve, showing the gauze on his forearm. Castiel glanced down, eyes wide, and felt a smile tug at his lips. He'd seen that gauze before, had watched Dean wrap that very wound moments before they'd had sex.

Cut himself on the rocks, indeed.

“You lose.” Dean’s words were simple but they enraged Crowley to no end.

He raised his Desert Eagle, but didn't fire, his hand trembling.

Castiel felt it too. Something was happening, the pressure in his head building up to a point of no return. Something needed to give, and it was about to happen now.

The glass floor panels exploded all at once, the shards vaporising into a brilliant white light. The last image Castiel saw before he clamped his eyes tightly shut was Crowley falling to the floor.

 

 **09:26 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Crowley propped himself up, his head aching from its impact against the glass sarcophagus. Something wet was trickling into his eyes and clouding his vision. He swiped at it and cracked open one eye. Blood.

It was the last coherent thought he had.

The light seeped into every part of him. He could feel it burning, searing as it reached the back of his eyes. It spread throughout his entire body, blazing as it engulfed his heart, his brain. The light completed him and highlighted his incompleteness all at once.

He struggled, trying to push it out of him, clawing at his face and eyes. Every sadistic desire, thought, action was illuminated, scorched away to nothing. He felt violated from the inside out.

His soul was laid bare and the light took it all.

Every second that passed in that eternity, Crowley felt himself become weightless, as if he was almost being purified. He opened his mouth and screamed in agony as the pure white light tore him apart to his very atoms and put him back together.

He knew it waited for him to surrender. He never would.

 

 **09:28 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Castiel opened his eyes, fearful that he might be blinded. Dean was right in front of him but the rest of the room was filled with a blinding luminescence. He couldn’t see the others and the way Dean was desperately searching for Sam showed he couldn’t either. The sphere of light that surrounded them was too bright.

He turned back to Dean, to see the green eyes had given up the search and were gazing back at him in shock and awe.

Castiel blinked. Dean looked different. The tension had all bled from his body, his eyes open and wide and almost youthful as they gazed back at him. The weight on his shoulders, the burdens that his life had placed on him were gone, washed away in the light. He could feel that in himself, his heart thudding in his chest as every negative emotion he’d ever experienced was wiped away by the luminescence surround him.

He felt ageless, lighter than air. Pure.

Dean’s fingers brushed against his cheek, drawing Castiel back to the present. No words were said. They looked at each other and there was an unspoken question between them that terrified Castiel. He wanted to scream. Run. Fight. The same uncertainty was reflected back at him but Dean succumbed first.

He nodded.

Castiel inhaled sharply and his nod back was shaky. Acceptance.

Dean thankfully didn’t move as Castiel leaned in and brushed their lips together. It burned deliciously. He savoured the sensation for just a moment and then kissed him again, this time surrendering himself entirely.

Castiel had never felt anything like it. He closed his eyes and lost himself, held tightly as Dean’s arms crushed them together. This was nothing like their previous kisses, fuelled from hate and anger and suspicion.

This was powered by nothing other than trust. Trust that Castiel had never placed fully in another human being before. Nevertheless, in this moment, in this light, he trusted Dean with more than just his life. He trusted him with his heart and soul. It wasn’t love, Castiel knew that just as he knew the sky was blue. He didn’t love Dean. But he could. Somehow this radiance allowed him to conceive an abundance of possibilities for his future.

Castiel knew that all futures open to him had one thing in common now. Dean. There would be no going back from this. They both knew it. Yet they’d both taken the plunge and were bathing in the waters of the unknown and the uncertain. Star-crossed they were not, but separated by allegiances and history.

Here and now, Castiel was experiencing what they could be without any of that. Without the Men of Letters, without ARTEMIS, without the events of their past shaping them into people who knew only death and suspicion. What they could have if he was just Castiel and this was just Dean.

Castiel felt the agelessness wash over him again and this time it had nothing to do with the light.

It was all to do with Dean.

 

 **09:29 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN**

Adam made it back to the top of the steps but from the echoing thuds, there were people below him that weren’t so lucky. He might have failed but he would live to fight another day. He hadn’t gotten to the position of General, of Imperator, by recklessly endangering his own life. No, better to regroup and take care of the aftermath.

He fled out of the mosque, darting down the steps of the mountain towards the truck. He could be back in Rome by just after midnight, and if he checked in with ARTEMIS then, nobody would suspect his role in the events of the past few days.

Even out here, he could feel the rumbling underfoot, only much less intense than it had been inside. Still, it was quiet and wouldn’t draw too much attention from the city below. The hour was late and the sky was dark, which would provide cover for his escape.

He spotted one truck waiting at the bottom of the slope and hastened towards it. Adam could see the silhouette of the driver waiting beside the cabin. The other truck was gone, its driver no doubt fleeing from the chaos under the mountain. Coward.

“We need to go, now,” Adam ordered in broken Arabic.

“I think not, General,” the driver replied in English. The language was only the second thing that caught Adam’s attention. The first thing he noticed was that the voice was distinctly feminine. American.

The driver tilted her head back, and her hat fell off, revealing a shock of cropped red hair and pale skin. Slender hands were currently pointing a taser at him. Adam didn’t recognise her but he didn’t need to. He’d recognised the voice immediately from phone calls over the past few days.

“Charlie Bradbury,” she introduced herself, her expressioning hardening. “If you’re looking for your men, they’re all cuffed in the back of my truck. Now, put your hands up.”

 

 **09:29 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN**

Adam started to raise his hands in the air. The moment of complacency caused Charlie to almost miss the flicker of his eyes behind her.

Almost.

She whipped her head back, feeling it impact with something hard behind her. There was a cry of pain and a body crumbled to the floor. Charlie spun and kicked away the pistol of the soldier she had missed, drawing a second weapon from her holster. The taser gun remained pointed at Adam while she calmly used her Sig to put two holes in the chest of the man who had tried to sneak up on her.

She looked back in time to see Adam point his own gun at her. A stalemate.

“Do you think I won’t shoot a woman?”

“I know you would. You’re the Umbridge of this story.” Charlie felt energy flood through her at the words. “But I’m the Hermione.”

“What are you talking-”

Charlie squeezed the trigger. Two needle tipped darts embedded themselves in Adam’s thigh. The jolt of electricity threw him backwards, the gun firing upwards with nothing to stop its trajectory. Adam screamed as 50,000 volts made its way through his system.

To make sure Adam stayed down, Charlie kept her eyes on him as she holstered her pistol and reached for her radio. Two minutes later, she was surrounded by trucks of Syrian law enforcement and her current right-hand man, the only ARTEMIS agent she had brought with her on this expedition. Palms had been greased and diplomacy at its finest meant General Milligan would soon be on a plane to the US, to be dropped in a very dark hole and interrogated.

“Are you alright, Director?” Benny Lafitte asked, respectfully.

“I’m great! That was so cool! Man, I miss field work.”

 

 **09:29 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Dust and debris began to fall from the ceiling. It didn’t take a genius with a geology degree to know what that meant, it just so happened that Eileen fit that exact description. The entire structure of the cavern had lost its stability. The soldiers guarding them had already fled for the stairs but their screams had echoed back shortly after, audible through their earpieces.

They hadn’t made it out alive.

Eileen and the others had freed themselves from their cable ties as soon as their guards had hauled ass, but had yet to make a move. The glass grid was gone, and any view of the centre was blocked by a blinding ball of light that surrounded the chamber.

Sam was making no effort to try and escape and Eileen couldn’t decide if it was because he too had figured out their exit was inaccessible, or if it was because he had no intention of leaving without his brother.

She said nothing, just pressed herself into Sam’s welcoming arms. Was the light already fading? She thought it was. A few seconds later, she was sure of it. As the rays of light retreated, there was a rumbling sound and the roof began to crumble further.

This was nothing to do with the machine that had triggered the virus. This was the mountain itself, reacting to the goings on inside it. The stability of the entire roof had  been compromised. Eileen leapt to her feet, tugging at Sam’s right hand and reaching towards Claire and Jack.

“We need to get to the Commander. It’s all coming down.”

 

 **09:30 PM** **  
** **BENEATH MOUNT QASIOUN**

Dean broke the embrace first, feeling the effects of the light fading away from him.

Castiel stumbled backwards away from him, eyes widening with shock. They looked away from each other, each of them trying to process what was happening. What had just happened.

“Sam!” Dean called out.

“Here, Dean!” Sam appeared as the sphere of light shrank into nothing, flickering out of existence. Dean’s vision was filled with spots, but his sight quickly returned to him as the rest of his team reached him. Everyone appeared to be unharmed, if a little bit stunned.

Dean looked around. Everything was gone, as if it had never been there. A single, unbroken glass panel lay in the wall, but everything else had been vaporised in the sphere. The sarcophagus, the tome,  even the glass and metal grid on the floor.

There was no doubt some scientific explanation for all of that but Dean couldn’t think of it. Where had everything gone?

A sob drew his attention and he whirled around to see Crowley sprawled across the dirt and stone floor. The man was weeping, the right side of his face soaked in blood from the gash on his forehead. Dean truly doubted that the injury was causing him this anguish. He’d felt the purity of the light himself, the way it had lifted all of the burdens of sin from his shoulders.

“I didn’t ask for forgiveness,” Crowley wept. “You don’t know what it’s like to be human.”

Dean’s mouth opened in surprise. Forgiveness? Was Crowley repenting?

“Leave him,” he ordered his team. The vibrations were getting worse, they needed to find a way out of here. Crowley could be dragged out and arrested once they were sure there was a way out of here. But if they didn’t get out of here soon, they wouldn’t get out at all.

Movement caught his eye. He saw Castiel storming over to Crowley and recognised what was about to happen. Dean reached out to stop him, arms outstretched in warning.

Castiel was faster. Dean could only watch on as he lifted the recovered Desert Eagle from behind his back and shot Crowley cleanly in the face. Crowley’s head snapped back to the floor, the expression of misery etched permanently into what was left of his face.

The others watched in horror.

“Why?” Dean asked, quietly.

Castiel’s eyes were fixed on a point behind Dean as he replied. He seemed unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “We had a deal,” he replied bluntly, touching his injured shoulder. “Besides, you heard him. He didn’t want forgiveness.”

 

 **09:31 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN**

The vibrations had the Syrian authorities refusing to climb the mountain, stating that it was simply too dangerous. Charlie had tried to go on her own but Benny had refused to let her.

“With all due respect, Director, it’s only my second mission in the field. I can’t go back and tell Dr. Tran that I let you get yourself killed. He’ll have me cleanin’ lab equipment for months and you know I can’t keep hold of those tiny little vials.”

Charlie saw the sense in his words but she felt on edge. She and Benny had travelled to Syria on their own. Not even Director Shurley knew she’d undertaken this field mission. Thankfully, a mixture of their respective contacts - Benny’s from his marine days and hers from her time in the field - had helped them track General Milligan’s movements. He had led them both right here.

Charlie knew Chuck would disapprove. A Director’s place was behind a desk. But that was him.

It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

She wasn’t made for pushing paper, for staying back while her operatives put themselves in danger. She would never send someone into the field if she wasn’t willing to go herself.

ARTEMIS was hers now and she would make her mark in her own way. The first hands-on leader in the short history of the organisation.

Dean’s suspicion of a leak had reminded her of her own experience with Rowena. Director Shurley had believed her, trusted in her instincts. The same way she had immediately trusted Dean. A field agent knew when something wasn’t right. So, her decision had been a tricky one and she’d ultimately chosen to trust in ARTEMIS.

After Rowena, every single employee of ARTEMIS had been vetted thoroughly. There was no such thing as privacy in their organisation. There couldn’t afford to be. There had been a complete overhaul. Soldiers were let go for even the most tenuous of links to criminal organisations. Scientists were dismissed as ARTEMIS disbanded.

Kevin Tran was one of the few people that had survived the restructuring. Charlie trusted him completely. She’d kept him out of the loop only so that he could continue relaying information to Cardinal Duma and General Milligan as the ARTEMIS liaison. She couldn’t risk spooking the leak until she had weeded them out.

There had been precious few people involved in every step of their mission. Her team. Kevin Tran. Cardinal Duma, who had hired ARTEMIS in the first place, he had no reason to leak information to the Court. Which only left their Carabinieri Liaison, General Milligan.

Charlie’s investigation had been discreet, but she was able to track the General’s movements back and forwards between Scotland and Rome a suspicious amount of times. The final nail in his coffin was the moment he booked a flight to Damascus, mere hours after her own operatives had landed there.

She’d taken Benny Lafitte and called in a few favours. Her choice to bring Benny was tactical. A little rough around the edges, Benny wouldn’t ask too many questions. It was a complete accident that he worked for ARTEMIS in the first place, since he had no background in science and was of distinctly average intelligence. But his heart was in the right place and he could follow orders. Over time, he’d become quite an asset. Now, he was the only field agent she trusted to blindly follow her into the field with no explanation or information provided to him.

Charlie had known she couldn’t help her team from Washington. She’d hoped being here in the field would make a difference.

Now, she simply worried that she was too late.

 

 **09:35 PM** **  
** **MOUNT QASIOUN**

“The entrance is this way.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder towards his brother and shook his head. “Those stairs are a death trap without an earthquake, there’s no way out that way. Besides, it’s not unreasonable to assume they’re completely blocked off by now.”

“And you think there’s another way out?” Sam asked, unconvinced. “Dean, this whole place is gonna come down on our heads if we don’t get out of here now.”

Dean frowned as he ran his hands over the single glass panel that remained, embedded in the wall. The torches that had been decorating the room had long since extinguished, blown out by the explosion of light, so Dean was feeling his way around in the dark. “It won’t. Give me your shotgun.”

When Sam didn’t immediately hand it over, Dean sighed. “Sammy. Trust me. Please. Give me the gun and stand back.”

Sam relinquished the shotgun and Dean took a couple of steps back. He aimed the Mossberg at the glass panel and fired twice. The glass shattered, revealing a short tunnel concealed behind. Satisfied, Dean kicked the rest of the jagged edges away until there was a clear route through.

“How did you know there was a tunnel there?” Eileen asked.

Dean shook his head. “I didn’t. I figured that there would be a second way out, though. This glass was the only thing left, it had to be hiding something. Whoever set this treasure hunt, murder has never been on their mind. They trusted us to be clever enough to solve our way to the end. Yes, we were ultimately judged unworthy but they weren’t trying to kill us. I don’t think they expected any loss of life at this stage.”

“But… there was a murder. One of the steps was to re-enact the murder. You shot the soldier.” Claire pointed out.

“From a lack of alternative in the time frame given.” Dean stepped into the tunnel. “You’re forgetting something. The blood of the pure descendant we had didn’t work in Luxor. Why?”

“Because it was mixed with citrate-phosphate-dextrose. You said the chemicals interfered.” Sam called from near the back of the line.

“Right. But so was the vial of Claire’s blood that Eileen used to open the passage upstairs,” Dean reminded him. “They clearly knew of the compound’s existence to thwart our use of it earlier but allowed it this time.”

There was a stunned silence from the team. “Oh my God, you’re right. How did I not notice that?” Eileen breathed.

“I think we would have been allowed to use blood bags to achieve the same effect. Obviously, Crowley wanted to take the more bloody approach. He was never going to believe that anything other than murder would trigger the grid. I did what I needed to do.” Dean finished, coming to a halt as the tunnel led to a dead end.

Two more quick blasts with Sam’s shotgun sent a faint hint of light puncturing through the dirt wall, loosening the rocks. Dean shoved at the rocks and clawed at the dirt with his fingers, essentially digging himself out of the side of the mountain.

He climbed out, only to immediately find himself surrounded by Syrian armed soldiers. Dean closed his eyes, just for a second. He was filthy from head to toe, his face and clothes caked in dirt and sand and blood. His whole body was in pain, he was sleep-deprived, physically exhausted, and desperately in need of a beer and a burger. A combination of all of the above made for a really irritable Commander, and Dean was about to start throwing punches.

“Son of a bitch!” He snapped, drawing back his arm and clenching his fist, when a familiar voice hailed him.

“Commander Winchester!”

Dean stared, and then rubbed his eyes and stared some more.

“It’s not possible,” Eileen breathed.

But it was.

Dean lowered his hand. “ _Director Bradbury_?”

 

 **09:43 PM** **  
** **DAMASCUS, SYRIA**

“Why were we spared what happened to Crowley?” Eileen asked. Her voice was quiet, but everyone heard it nonetheless.

They were all gathered at the base of the mountain, as Director Bradbury finally looped Kevin into her whereabouts, and arranged extradition of their prisoners back to the states.

Dean shook his head. “We aren’t evil. We’ve all probably done some pretty shitty things in our life. In the name of duty or out of desperation or circumstance. Speaking for myself, I never enjoyed it. I don’t think any of us would ever enjoy that kind of thing. Maybe that makes all the difference.”

“You speak like you believe that was truly a higher power, Commander.” Jack teased.

Dean gave a small smile. “A higher power? No. But something I don’t understand, yeah. Eileen’s question struck me as philosophical more than scientific. I don’t have a scientific answer for what that light was. But I do know what the machine did. It caused flux tubes, and it actually caused ripples in organic matter. It warped the particles of the virus, which caused it to become active.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. “You really think we just lost the only chance we’ll ever have at immortality?” Claire asked eventually.

“Some things are only for God to know,” Jack told her. “Perhaps in time, we’ll be deemed worthy of the knowledge again.”

Dean tuned out the rest of their conversation as he caught Castiel’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what made him look at Castiel at that specific moment but as soon as they locked eyes, he knew what was coming. He couldn’t be here. Charlie had overlooked him for the moment but she would arrest him at the first opportunity.

A moment of understanding passed between them as Castiel took a step back into the shadows. Dean didn’t look away, his chest clenching.

Sam nudged Dean’s shoulder but Dean didn’t look away. Sam had obviously noticed Castiel’s strategic retreat too. “You ever going to tell me what happened between you two?”

Dean watched as Castiel’s disappeared into the night, leaving no trace that he’d ever even been there at all. He watched for a beat longer before answering Sam’s question. “Nope.”

“Fair enough.” He could hear the amusement in Sam’s voice and found a smile mirroring on his own face.

Turning back to the others, Dean placed one hand on Claire’s shoulder and the other on Eileen’s, effectively silencing their conversation. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow!


	18. Aftermath

**APRIL 27TH, 04:39 PM** **  
** **ROME, ITALY**

Claire looked out the window of Jack’s rental car as he drove them back to her apartment. It had truly been an intense few days - she could hardly even believe that was all it had been. Days. Leaving Rome felt like it had been months ago, when she’d been walking across that _piazza_ to have lunch with Kaia -

Her chest clenched and Claire tried to block out that avenue of thought. She would have plenty of time to think about Kaia over the next few months. She’d need to file a missing persons report, that’s what Dean had decided was the best thing for her to do. To pretend that she hadn’t seen the light fade from Kaia’s eyes, that it hadn’t happened right in front of her. But he was right. There would be too many questions, too many things to explain about exactly what had happened to her, at least to the Italian authorities. ARTEMIS knew.

She would be investigated, but ARTEMIS and the Vatican would ensure her alibi held up. They’d also take care of the Carabinieri involvement and investigation, now that General Milligan’s true role had been brought to light. Director Bradbury had taken custody of him and Claire doubted he’d ever leave American soil. No doubt he was imprisoned in some black site. Somewhere he’d never be found.

Everything had resolved itself in the end. The Court had been dissolved, its leader imprisoned. Crowley was dead. They solved the riddle and made it all the way to the end with no great losses - to a certain extent. All except for Sam. Claire hadn’t seen him again after they’d left Mount Qasioun. They’d been bound for separate flights and Charlie had needed her entire team for a debriefing. Claire hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to tell him how sorry she was.

Thankfully, it seemed like nobody else blamed her. Dean hadn’t. He had assured her long and hard that this wasn’t her fault, had even taken her to Damascus with them. If he’d truly thought her to blame, he’d have left her behind, dropped her off after they escaped from Crowley’s hounds. He had trusted her with his life when she’d figured out the last clue in Syria. Knowing that he’d die if she was wrong, he had placed all his faith in her.

What caught her off guard the most was how much she missed the ARTEMIS team. She liked and respected all of them, and it had surprised her how difficult it had been to be apart from them. Claire knew that, despite her residence in Rome, she would be seeing more of them in the future. She had made lifelong friends. Even Charlie Bradbury had been so likeable - Claire had only met the Director for a short time, but she’d expected Dean’s boss to be more terrifying than she was.

She thought back to the offer of employment that Charlie had made to her as they descended Mount Qasioun. To work for ARTEMIS as a field analyst. It was a new position, as researchers and analysts rarely tended to enter the field. That was the job of the field agents alone. But Claire knew that the position had been created just for her and Jack - as a permanent team member with Sam, Dean, and Eileen.

She’d asked to think about it but she knew she wouldn’t take the position. Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to more than anything. That was exactly why she planned to decline. Her acceptance would be born out of grief, out of avoidance of returning to a life of normalcy. To avoid dealing with Kaia’s betrayal. Her death.

But Jack’s military enlistment wasn’t up yet. He’d serve out his remaining time as an actual member of the Pontifical Swiss Guard and then maybe they’d think about it. For now, Claire would force herself to return to her job as a Professor of Art History, to pick up where she’d left off, and then maybe one day she’d leave her teaching in the capable hands of her protege, Patience.

“Claire? Are you okay?” Jack’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

She blinked, and realised the car had stopped outside of her apartment. Forcing a smile onto her face, she pulled Jack into a tight hug, allowing the tears to sting her eyes where he couldn’t see.

“I’m fine,” she lied, fighting to keep her voice even. “Just tired.”

Jack laughed, sadly, tightening his hold. “No, you’re not. I’m gonna go and check in at Vatican City and then I’ll be right back. No more than two hours. Okay?”

Claire nodded and her legs were unsteady as she got out of the car. “I’ll see you in a little while then.”

She could feel Jack’s eyes on her as she fumbled with her keys. He was obviously remembering the last time she was here. Claire was trying not to.

The silence was the first thing that struck her as soon as she unlocked her apartment door. The mess was the second. It seemed like every possession she owned was either broken or strewn across the floor. Broken picture frames, glassware, precious copies of books were scattered everywhere. It looked like a disaster zone.

Claire entered the bedroom. From here she could see the bathroom door wide open, the window pane shattered from her hasty exit the last time she was here. Yet apart from that, this room hadn’t even been touched. The sheets were still balled up, the way they always ended up when Kaia slept in and was running late.

It was such a stupid thing to miss. There were thousands of other things she could have thought of, hundreds of mementos of Kaia in this apartment alone, but this was the thing that made Claire come undone. She felt her heart break in her chest and grief flooded through her.

Finally able to process and mourn, Claire buried her face in her hands and cried.

 

 **MAY 13TH, 02:30 PM** **  
** **VATICAN CITY**

“You’ve done well with your new assignment.”

Jack raised his eyes to the newest Secretary of State for Vatican City - Cardinal Elijah. The loss of Cardinal Duma had been a severe blow, but Jack had been given time to come to terms with his grief. Recovering from the stressful mission, Jack had been given two weeks reprieve and then returned to light duties.

For a brief moment, he’d hoped that Cardinal Duma’s passing meant he’d be able to keep his job, but Duma had already processed his retirement from the Vatican Intelligence service.

“Thank you, Your Eminence.”

Elijah looked at him over the tips of his fingers. “It must be a big change for you. How are you enjoying the regular duties?”

Jack looked startled to be asked. “It’s a different change of pace,” he began tactfully. “But my duty to the Holy See -”

“Come now, Lieutenant. You may speak freely. I prefer candor to bureaucracy.” Elijah gave him a wry smile. “You have my word that no unpleasant repercussions will come from our conversation.”

Jack eyed him for a moment, weighing up his sincerity, before relenting. “I’m bored,” he confessed. “I miss the variety of missions, the field work. I never liked staying in one place for so long.”

“That’s what I thought. Sadly, my hands are tied. The regulations regarding the breach of your identity are long since established. Not even I can undo them.”

Deflating, Jack nodded. He’d expected this outcome but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. He had loved his job, the opportunities and challenges it presented. He wasn’t made for standing around St. Peter’s square, taking photographs with tourists.

“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do when your enlistment is up?” Cardinal Elijah asked. “I know you still have around a year left but time passes quicker than you expect around here.”

“I figured I’d go back to the States,” Jack admitted. “I have family there. My parents and my other sister. I have a job offer waiting for me there that I’m considering.”

Elijah smiled and leaned forward. “The offer from Washington, yes? Yes, my predecessor was aware of the situation in Washington and His Holiness has enlightened me with the details. Your sister Claire received a similar job offer, did she not?”

“Yes, she did,” Jack acknowledged cautiously. From the look in the Cardinal’s eyes, this was leading somewhere interesting but Jack couldn’t quite see where just yet. What was this line of questioning all about?

“Of course, you had past experience with ARTEMIS before the events of last April. You’d worked with Captain Leahy before. A fellow field agent knowing your identity, well, to the Holy See that is an asset, an ally. Not a civilian liability.”

Jack began to see what Elijah was driving at and he sat up, daring to hope. His heart thudded in his chest, and his foot began to tap restlessly. “Yes, that seems fair. An agent who needs to protect their own identity is hardly likely to be anything less than discreet about my role within the Vatican hierarchy.”

“Precisely,” Elijah’s smile widened. “So if you were to assure me - a complete guarantee, right here and now - that your sister will absolutely take the job offer in Washington upon your retirement from the Pontifical Swiss Guard… then I see no reason not to reinstate you to your former position as a member of the Vatican Intelligence Service for the remainder of your assignment.”

Jack had already discussed the plan with his sister. Claire’s initial instinct had been to decline Charlie’s offer. Yet, as time passed, and each day grew easier to deal with, her certainty had lessened. Eventually, with a clear head, both had managed to talk through their future plans. The members of the ARTEMIS team were not simply allies. They had become family. It was impossible to suffer through the events they had without forming close relationships. To work side-by-side with Commander Winchester and Captains Winchester and Leahy would be an honour.

Their hardest obstacle had been Jack’s clandestine work for the Vatican. Claire had thankfully understood his need for secrecy in the end. The hardships that came with being undercover, of not being able to disclose too many details, were many. Yet it was balanced by the exhilaration of being in the field, of getting the job done by whatever means necessary. That kind of rush was too much to give up, even at the hefty price of concealment.

Claire had discovered that for herself and so they had both reached a decision. They had both decided to accept ARTEMIS’ offer of employment.

Jack smiled.

 

 **JUNE 21ST, 08:54 AM** **  
** **WASHINGTON D.C.**

Sam walked into the Director’s office, feeling on edge. Anticipation was flooding his body and making him feel slightly nauseous.

The meeting was his first since the initial debriefing. He’d been invited back multiple times once his wrist stump had begun to heal, for tests and measurements and therapy. He’d dutifully gone to them all, in the hopes that his compliance would count towards keeping his job. He hadn’t expected to lose it entirely - he knew he was an asset and Charlie would never dream of firing him - but deep down, he’d known he’d never be allowed in the field again. The worst part of it was knowing that, for the first time, he wouldn’t be able to follow where Dean led.

When the Director had called him to set up his meeting, Sam had prepared to argue for his job. He had thrown himself into research and pulled together a presentation, backed up by medical statistics, and even records of his own physical fitness, noting the lack of change in his own stats even despite his missing appendage. He’d taught himself to shoot, reload, assemble and disassemble guns one-handed, until he could do it as fast as he’d been able to with two.

He walked into the meeting armed and ready to make his case. To her credit, Charlie let him get through the first three pages before she’d told him she had no intention of taking him out of the field. Sheepishly, Sam had fallen silent, allowing Charlie to talk him through a developmental prosthetic that ARTEMIS had been working on specifically for him - it had been made to his own measurements, would attach just like a regular prosthetic - except for two details. It would be comfortable enough to be worn permanently, and had extra functions that would prove beneficial in the field.

He’d need time to adjust to it, like any other prosthetic. But it was a far cry from the stump he was living with now.

“Now, I’ll let you go and tell Commander Winchester the good news, so you can put him out of his misery.”

Sam flinched. He’d been avoiding Dean since the first debriefing, ducking him whenever their paths crossed at ARTEMIS. He hadn’t even gone home or visited Bobby and Ellen. He hadn’t told them about his arm, although he figured Dean had by now. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t realised that other people had noticed his avoidance, least of all the Director.

He looked up at her kind gaze and swallowed. “I can’t… bear to let him see me like this. I let him down. I was sloppy and careless and I got hurt. I’ve always been able to have his back. How can he trust that I will now?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, shuffling some papers at her desk in a way that signalled their meeting was coming to an end. “Personally, I think the Commander is asking himself the very same question. He was the mission lead and one of his men got hurt. You don’t think he blames himself?”

Sam hadn’t even considered that his brother might be shouldering some of the blame for what had happened. He stood up abruptly, leaning over the desk to pull Charlie into a brief hug. Not something she’d usually welcome but she patted him on the back regardless, before giving him a pointed push towards the door.

Sam left her office feeling brighter than he had in a long time. He needed to go home, to stop avoiding his responsibilities and talk to his brother. But he didn’t have to travel that far. When Sam exited the elevator in the lobby, Dean was leaning against the curved oak reception desk, chatting to Cassie.

Sam could pinpoint the exact moment that Dean saw him, the tension locking his shoulders together. He knew in that moment that if he walked past Dean and out of the door, his brother would do nothing to stop him. All this time, Dean had been giving him his space, allowing Sam to come to terms with his amputation.

“You want to give me a ride to Bobby’s?” He called out.

Dean relaxed and sent a last wink towards Cassie, turning to stare at Sam seriously. “Sure. You good?”

“Yeah, I am.” Sam admitted, and was surprised by how true it was. “You know they’re giving me a brand new hand? DARPA tech. I’m still gonna be on missions, kicking your ass into gear when you screw up.”

Dean froze. “Sammy -”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam interrupted. “We can go over this and point fingers until we’re blue in the face. But it wasn’t your fault and I don’t blame you.”

“Then it wasn’t yours either,” Dean replied eventually, swiping his card and pressing his thumb to the reader as he swiped them out of the building. “So, you can stop moping any time now and we can get back to work. Who else is gonna watch my six?”

“Moping? I lost my friggin’ hand, Dean! It wasn’t like I got a hangnail or something.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

 

 **JULY 16TH, 08:55 AM** **  
** **WASHINGTON D.C.**

Eileen walked out of the elevator, her steps showing a confidence that she didn’t feel inside.

It was good to be back to work. After the initial debrief, everyone involved in the Demon Court case had been ordered to take some time off to recuperate. One thing Eileen appreciated about ARTEMIS was that Director Bradbury insisted on following protocols for both physical and mental recovery - no doubt from her own experience as a field agent - and aside from official meetings and an appointment with her mandated therapist, Eileen had been banned from HQ.

She’d been back for a little over a month but had yet to see any of her fellow teammates. Instead, she’d thrown herself into research, published a scientific paper only a week ago on the properties and characteristics of Nubian Sandstone in construction. Today, however, she had been called in for an official meeting with the Director. Kevin, who had video called her, hadn’t said what the meeting was about, but Eileen had her suspicions. It had been her first foray into the field with ARTEMIS, and as her team leader, Commander Winchester would have had to submit an official appraisal of her skills.

Eileen felt her stomach churn with nerves. The mission had started so well. She’d held her own, she’d even impressed Sam. But it had been her mistake that had cost Sam his hand. She should have made sure he and Claire had gotten away before she’d gone back for Dean. She’d tried to do too much and Sam had paid the price.

No matter how fair Commander Winchester was in her appraisal, the very existence of that fact meant she would be warming the bench for a long time to come.

It was going to be rough, hearing the Director address her failures, but Eileen would handle it with the grace and decorum expected of her. Making a fuss would change nothing.

She swept into the reception room outside of the Director’s office, surprised to see no sign of Charlie’s personal receptionist, Gilda. Still, she was expected, so she took a seat.

The outside door opened after a few moments and Eileen glanced over to see Dean enter the room. She stood abruptly, her face lighting up.

“Commander! Are you here for the meeting with the Director too?”

Dean shook his head. “Director Bradbury has been called into a meeting with the higher-ups. Your meeting is actually with me. In my office, please.”

Eileen blinked. They all had offices, of course. Somewhere they could plan before entering the field, to complete paperwork, a place for their assigned laptops and access to labs for any scientific research they needed to undertake. Downtime between missions at ARTEMIS was often vast and boring, so a lot of them tended to study and write research papers for publication. Eileen was guilty of this herself. She was just fully aware that Dean thought of his office as a glorified broom closet and had yet to use it for anything other than storage.

Still, he obviously meant to use it now, so she followed him dutifully down the hallway. Yet another sign that something was unusual - the offices in this wing were reserved for senior analysts and Command. Eileen’s own office - along with Sam’s, Benny Lafitte’s, and she had thought Dean’s - was in the other wing.

Dean pushed open the door for her and Eileen entered the room. It was spacious, brightly lit despite being underground, and filled with comfortable furniture and lab equipment. A lot of the lab equipment had been pushed to the outside of the room to make way for a round table and surrounding chairs - one of which was already occupied.

“Sam!” Eileen’s smile grew considerably. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Sam signed, brightening as he looked at her. “And you?”

Eileen followed the motions of him signing with her eyes, zeroing in on his left hand. Where there should have been a stump, there was a flesh-coloured prosthetic. At a casual glance, it might even pass for a regular hand. It moved just like one, at least. Sam had clearly undergone great progress to get to this stage.

“I’m fine.” She replied, holding out her hand tentatively.  “May I?”

Sam reached out, his prosthetic hand taking hers. His fingers tightened around her hand gently, almost like a handshake. The makeshift ‘skin’ didn’t feel hard to the touch, nor was the temperature anything unusual. It was almost an extension of Sam, albeit an artificial one. DARPA had truly outdone themselves.

Eileen brought her hand back as Sam released her fingers, a light blush tinting her cheeks. She’d thought of Sam often since her return from Syria, but any attempts to contact him had been blocked by the Director. She understood that Sam had needed to heal but was glad to see him back at work. The intense feelings she’d had towards him in the field hadn’t faded like she’d expected and even seeing him now was making her heart thud in her chest.

She’d shied away from it, during the mission. The knowledge that her feelings were reciprocated had forced her to bury them deep within her, yet she was unable to hide it fully. She didn’t think she had it in her to lose someone else, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling. Couldn’t hide her feelings for Sam. The solitary kiss and the time apart had given her clarity and she was tired of being lonely.

Dean joined them at the table and Eileen forced herself to return to business. She was clearly here for a reason.

“Right. I’m not going to drag this out. I asked Kevin to call you in so we could officially review your appraisal. But I don’t like this crappy paperwork bullshit,” Dean told her firmly, sliding her a sealed envelope. “I’ve made my stance clear to the Director. That’s your copy. You can review it after the meeting if you like, or borrow my shredder if you don’t want to read it, I don’t care.”

Eileen took the envelope without glancing away from Dean’s mouth, not wanting to miss a word he was saying. She couldn’t read his expression at all, couldn’t work out if the appraisal was good or bad.

Dean slid another piece of paper towards her. “This is the reason I asked you here. I’ve officially been given permanent command of my own team and I want you to join it. Sam’s my second, but you’re an asset and I’d like to have you watching my back.”

Eileen looked down at the paper and then back up to Dean. She fought to keep the emotion from her face, didn’t want to show how touched she was, and nodded. “I accept. Do you have a pen?”

“You don’t want to think about it first?” Sam pressed. “It’s a big commitment. Not everyone can put up with Dean for that long.” He scowled as Dean swatted his shoulder and kicked him in return.

“I don’t need to think about it. We’re already a team in my eyes. Us, and the others. We’re family.”

Something in Dean’s eyes softened and he passed her his pen. Eileen took it and scrawled her signature on the paperwork, passing it back along with the sealed envelope Dean had given her. She didn’t want to know what was in it. He would be fair, there would be good with the bad. Nothing good could possibly outweigh this moment and the bad would simply sully it. She didn’t care what Dean’s appraisal said. He had given her his opinion just by asking her to join him.

“You can shred this.”

Dean smiled approvingly. “Good. Well, that was everything.”

Eileen understood the dismissal and got to her feet. She eyed Sam for a moment, tentatively hoping he might say something about picking up where they’d left off in Syria. But he just gave her a soft smile, not saying anything. She could wait, to see if he would eventually pluck up the courage to ask her out. But Eileen wasn’t one for waiting - not when she was perfectly capable of getting the job done herself.

“I’m free at seven,” she told him, enjoying the way Sam’s eyes widened. “I love sushi and Italian food, but I don’t like Thai. And I’m paying. You can pay for our second date. I’ll text you my address, you can pick me up.”

Sam recovered quickly, which must have been extremely difficult from the way Dean was whooping and cheering. Even soundlessly, Eileen was finding it distracting but her eyes were only for Sam.

“It’s a date, then.” Sam smiled widely.

Eileen smiled. “I think I just said that. See you tonight. Goodbye, Commander,” she nodded at Dean, and on the walk back to the elevator, her confident walk was matched by an equally confident feeling.

 

 **AUGUST 24TH, 11:57 AM** **  
** **WASHINGTON D.C.**

Dean left ARTEMIS headquarters, the vial burning a hole in his pocket.

This went against every protocol ARTEMIS had. If he was caught for what he was about to do, he had no doubts that he’d be fired, not to mention sentenced to a pretty long term of imprisonment. That was the sole reason he had left Sam out of his decision. That, and he wasn’t sure how Sam would react to the suggestion.

“Dr. Winchester!”

Dean whirled around as he was hailed by one of the lab technicians - Kate, he remembered belatedly - and nodded in greeting.

“What is it? I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he apologised, anxious to get going.

“You sent an item away for tests just before you left for your last mission. It’s protocol to destroy or file everything after this long, but this is such a pretty piece of jewellery, I thought you might want to keep it.”

Dean reached out and Kate dropped the silver necklace into his hand. Stunned, Dean barely remembered to thank her as he walked away, looking down at the halo pendant in his hand. Right, he’d forgotten Castiel had left him this, months ago at Pine Bluff. It had been meant to mock him and to impart the knowledge that they would see each other again, and they had. Even though Castiel had slipped away during the chaos caused by the Director’s arrival in Syria, Dean knew their paths would cross again before too long.

Maybe Castiel would try to kill him again and maybe he wouldn’t. Dean didn’t kid himself that the sex had meant anything more than a quick way of relieving stress. But that kiss had been something entirely different. It had left them both raw, vulnerable. Scared. Neither of them knew how to deal with that, and Castiel had vanished before either of them could think too hard about what it might have meant.

Dean understood. It wasn’t like there had been any other choice. Charlie would have arrested Castiel on sight.

Still, that kiss had left its impact on both of them and Dean knew that Castiel wouldn’t forget about it in a hurry. Who knew what that would mean for their next encounter?

He picked up the delicate chain and fastened it around his neck, fumbling with the clasp until it caught. The pendant was heavier than he expected but not so heavy that it would bother him. Besides, he’d return it at the first opportunity, knowing that it symbolised something else now.

 _Until we meet again_.

Dean continued his journey towards the elevator, holding his breath as he stepped inside. The scans would kick in any second and Dean was banking his entire future on the fact that all of ARTEMIS’ previous tests had failed to pinpoint the existence of the blood powder. Which meant the elevator scans wouldn’t detect the vial of it inside his jacket.

The lights changed colour but no alarms were triggered. Relieved, Dean stepped out, waving to Cassie as he passed. He couldn’t stop today, he had too much to do.

He’d been avoiding visiting Bobby and Ellen since Bobby’s diagnosis. Two months after the return from Syria, he and Sam had both gotten a phone call from Ellen, asking them to come and visit. When they got there, she’d told them the truth.

Bobby had Parkinson’s disease. It explained his initial fall, his rigid joints. Eventually, his memory would decay and he would develop dementia. Sam had explained it properly to him later, but all Dean had realised in that moment was that there was no cure.

Bobby was going to die.

Since then, Dean had barely left ARTEMIS HQ, except to sleep. There were no active cases and he’d opted out of any overtime but spent every waking minute there regardless. His office had become a secondary lab.

What he had failed to report was that he was still in possession of the fragment of bone they had liberated in Venice. He’d always planned to run his own tests on it, to try and analyse its regenerative qualities to try and find a way to make Bobby walk again. Now he was looking for how to cure a death sentence.

His research had come up with nothing. The powder was still as much a mystery now as it ever had been. There was no way to determine its properties. Dean knew it was responsible for the healing of the security guard in Lyon. Without the book from Mount Qasioun, Dean had no idea the limitations it held. He didn’t know for certain that it could even help Bobby. But Dean had faith.

Pulling up outside Bobby’s home, Dean let himself in via the kitchen door. “Bobby? Ellen? It’s me.”

He heard the squeak of Bobby’s chair and then the man himself wheeled into the kitchen. “Just me here. Ellen’s runnin’ a couple of errands.”

“She left you alone?”

Bobby glared at him. “My number isn’t up just yet, kid. There’s a few more years left in me.”

Dean raised his hands in surrender and opened the fridge, pulling out some cheese. “Had lunch? I’m gonna make a grilled cheese sandwich, you want one?”

At Bobby’s assent, Dean set about making a couple of sandwiches for them, moving around the kitchen with a practiced ease, stemming from familiarity with the surroundings. He wasn’t all that hungry, but a meal was the most casual way to ensure the powder got into Bobby’s system.

“Sam not with you?”

“Nah, he’s getting some tests done on his new hand. Make sure it’s not chafing, see if there’s anything they can do to make it more comfortable for him.”

Bobby didn’t reply immediately, so Dean dropped the first sandwich on the griddle.

“I ain’t stupid, you know. Sam didn’t trap his hand in a shredder any more than Ellen and I waited till our wedding night.”

“Dude! Gross,” Dean snapped, trying as hard as he could to repress that image. “You’re practically my parents.”

Bobby snorted. “You could take a few lessons from Sam in trying to change the subject. I do get it, you know. You would have told me by now if you could. I just want you to know that I need you boys to keep looking out for each other, when I’m not here to knock your heads together.”

Dean’s hand clenched the spatula tightly. “You know we will. And like you said, you’ve got a few years in you yet.” He flipped the sandwich onto a plate and cut it on the diagonal, setting it in front of Bobby.

He returned to his own sandwich, dropping it onto the griddle and listening to the bread sizzle. He’d just flipped it on the plate when he heard Bobby open the fridge, grasping the carton of orange juice. Dean took it from him.

“Eat your lunch,” he instructed, pulling down two glasses and pouring some orange juice into each one. He slipped the vial from his pocket, glancing down at the white powder. The last of the blood powder, and the last hope Dean had. He turned his back, blocking Bobby’s view of his actions. There was no hesitation, Dean just unstoppered the lid and tipped the contents into the glass, swirling the powder around so it didn’t just settle.

“So, who is she? Or he?”

Dean almost dropped the glass. He set it down in front of Bobby before he lost the contents altogether, taking a seat next to him. It seemed Bobby knew more about him that he’d previously thought.

“Who’s who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, idjit. The person you’re dating. The one who gave you that shiny piece of jewellery around your neck. Must be something pretty special.”

Dean reached to the pendant instinctively, a smile tugging at his lips. Right, because that would make a romantic story if he even could tell Bobby everything. He could just imagine if he told the tale of how he and Castiel had first met, and the look on Bobby’s face.

Bobby seemed to misinterpret the smile on Dean’s face. “Must be something serious. You don’t have to tell me. I’m just glad you’re finding someone to settle down with. I can pass knowing that you’re all settled.”

The comment wiped the smile from Dean’s face.

“Bobby… have you looked into any treatments?” Dean asked, gently. “I know Sam gave you some pamphlets on experimental trials he found.”

Bobby eyed him over the second half of his grilled cheese. He’d yet to reach for the orange juice. “I don’t want them. No, don’t argue with me. I’m old, Dean. I’ve had two beautiful wives, raised three amazing children that I couldn’t be prouder of. It might be different if I weren’t in this chair. But I am, and I don’t want a prolonged life where I’m a burden to Ellen and you kids. If I died tomorrow, I would be a happy man.”

“You’re not a burden.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve had my time. I’m not gonna mess with chemicals to try and buy myself more. I’ve had a great life, and I’m okay with whatever comes next.”

Bobby finally reached for his orange juice, but Dean got there first, covering the glass with his hand. He lifted it out of reach.

“How about a beer instead?” He suggested, voice thick.

Bobby smiled. “Now you’re talking.”

Dean poured the contents of both of their glasses down the sink, watching the powder - and the last of his hope - drain away. Tears stung his eyes but he held them back, composing himself as he reached for the six-pack in the fridge. It was time he accepted that he couldn’t control everything. He had to put his faith in other people, to allow them to make their own choices. He’d found that faith in his team. Now he had to find it in his family.

He didn’t know how much time he would have with Bobby, but he’d take what he could get and make the very best of it.

He popped the caps off the bottles and took his seat at the table again, sliding one of the beers over to the man he considered to be his father. Dean took a long pull and licked his lips. If he was going to make the most of the time he had left with Bobby, then he could start with a small amount of honesty.

“His name is Cas.”

 

 **OCTOBER 27TH, 02:35 PM** **  
** **ELLICOTT CITY, MARYLAND**

Castiel cut the engine of his motorcycle and tugged off his helmet. He was parked quite a distance away from his destination but any closer would herald his arrival. He couldn’t be seen.

It had been just over six months since the events in Syria. Castiel had returned to the Men of Letters, the job he’d been recruited to do complete. Duma had fallen, unavoidably and tragically, but the Demon Court had been stopped and that had been his ultimate goal. There had been little backlash from the Men of Letters afterwards - his superiors had been disappointed that Castiel had failed to kill Commander Winchester.

Still, the unanticipated arrival of Charlie Bradbury into the field had added an extra level of risk to that task, or at least that had been the excuse Castiel had smoothly provided. He had no intention of carrying out that particular task - but he knew that sooner or later he would be ordered to. Probably later, now ARTEMIS had advance warning of the Men of Letters goal to seek revenge,. Charlie would be on high alert. No doubt she had people watching her agents. Perhaps that was a good thing. The world was significantly more interesting with Commander Winchester in it.

Sadly, the scrutiny from ARTEMIS Command made Castiel’s current task difficult. He had no intention of surrendering himself into anyone’s custody, so he’d just have to be extremely careful - more so than usual.

He’d tried his hardest not to come. It just further complicated an already messy situation. Castiel didn’t get attached, especially not to someone he would be expected to kill. He’d agonised over this from the first moment that he’d return to the Men of Letters HQ. Ultimately, he’d decided the events of Syria had been too recent, too raw. Thoughts of Commander Winchester were clouding his judgement. Castiel hoped a further mission would bring back his clarity. He’d spent the last five months tracking down a particular book that the Men of Letters had been concerned about.

The distance had just made things worse. Castiel couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.

Not the first kiss. Not even the sex, although that had been pretty epic too. _The_ kiss. The kiss that had transcended duty and obligation and rivalry. Where the light had surrounded them and Castiel had been so sure that he would die in that moment. But Dean’s arms had held him tight and their lips had touched, and it was the most purest declaration Castiel had ever felt. Not love. But a promise of it, if they would both take a chance. The knowledge had scared both of them and Castiel had reacted the only way he knew how. He fled.

But the last six months had proven that he couldn’t stay away forever.

He blended into the shadows of the afternoon sun and kept out of sight of any passers-by as he approached the house. It was set apart from the other houses in the area due to its vast garden, and it looked a little more taken care of. As Castiel approached, he realised he could smell wet paint and he smiled. Someone was redecorating, fixing up all the peeling paint on on the outside of the building, had trimmed the hedges and tidied up the creeping ivy on the walls. They’d even cleaned out the gutter.

Castiel suspected he knew who was responsible for all of it.

He edged around the fence, towards the backyard. He could hear a crunching, scraping sound and wanted to check out the source.

“Dean! Once you’re finished raking those leaves, there’s a shelf you can help me put up in the kitchen!” A voice hailed from inside the house. An older female. Probably Ellen, if Castiel’s information was accurate.

“Sure thing, Ellen. I won’t be long.” A familiar voice called back and Castiel found himself drawing closer against his will, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dean.

He was dressed more casually than Castiel had ever seen him, faded jeans and a black t-shirt, with a plaid flannel button down hanging loosely over the t-shirt. He was clutching a rake in one hand, thoroughly focused on some loose leaves that he was dragging towards a substantial pile in the far corner of the garden. Sweat was beading on his forehead and he had no doubt been working at this task for a while.

But, Castiel noted with surprise, he looked happy to be doing it.

He watched, enraptured, almost hungry with the need to be closer to Dean. But this was what he could expect if he approached - a domestic lifestyle, if ARTEMIS didn’t arrest him on the spot. Castiel knew he would never truly fit into that sort of life. A white picket fence. Kids. A husband. That was what a relationship of any sort would mean, in the end. Castiel had been trained to kill from the moment he was old enough to hold a knife, and that was all he knew. Subterfuge and treachery came as natural to him as breathing. Attachments were a weakness he couldn’t afford, even if he wanted them.

This kind of life could never be for him.

Castiel leaned against the fence, half-hoping and half-fearing that Dean would turn around and see him. He didn’t want to be seen, that was what he’d told himself, but now he was here, he didn’t want to leave. Even knowing there was nothing for him here, he’d just promised himself one last look.

As Castiel turned to leave, he noticed the glint of silver around Dean’s neck. A familiar twisted disc. Castiel’s hand flew to his own neck, touching the matching object. Even after all this time, Dean had kept his gift - a necklace initially left as a taunt and a promise that they would see each other again. Did that mean Dean was hoping to see him again?

He looked down at the fence, torn with indecision. He could hop it in just a second but the fear of the unknown kept him pinned to the spot. What kind of reception would he receive? Would Dean kiss him? Punch him? Arrest him? Tell him to leave? Was this even a good idea? If the Men of Letters caught wind of this field trip, he’d be killed.

None of that was relevant in that moment. The only question whirring around Castiel’s head was a very simple one: did he want whatever Dean could offer him?

His eyes flickered to the pendant hanging from Dean’s neck again.

Castiel took a deep breath, and made his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a wonderful journey, and I've loved every minute of writing this. Thank you to everyone who has followed it since the beginning, or stumbled upon it afterwards. If anyone has any suggestions on future oneshots about characters you'd like to see more of or know more about, or even the story behind certain references I made, let me know in the comments or on my tumblr!
> 
> The ARTEMIS team (and Castiel) will return in ARTEMIS: Leviathan, coming soon.


	19. Sequel

Just a quick update that the first chapter of ARTEMIS: Leviathan is now up! You can find the link under my profile. I hope to update regularly and already have a third of the fic written :)

**Author's Note:**

> **[You can find me on tumblr here!](https://galaxystiel.tumblr.com) **
> 
> This particular piece of fanfiction has taken me eight months to incept, research, write and edit. If you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them! Please leave a comment :)


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